


Synesthesia

by venagrey



Series: Synesthesia [1]
Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Anxiety, Coming of Age, Composing, Drama, Dubious use of blindfolds, Eventual Romance, F/M, I promise it's complete, LGBT themes (minor here but major in spinoff stories), Literally so much anxiety, Major Original Character(s), Old Fic, Platonic Touching, Psychological Drama, Re-upload, Saotome might be a demigod, Sensory Processing Disorder, Slow Burn, Taking the color thing too far, emotional exploration, first in a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venagrey/pseuds/venagrey
Summary: Nanami Haruka is at the top of her game. Four years after the SSS games, she is an established producer, making a name for herself and leaving a mark on the industry so sizeable that she is garnering international attention. When a rival agency tries to poach her from Shining, the boys of STARISH return from their third international tour. And when her old principal suddenly re-appears into her life with an offer she can’t refuse, no one is prepared for what comes next.
Relationships: Jinguuji Ren/Nanami Haruka
Series: Synesthesia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829167
Comments: 17
Kudos: 17





	1. Dal niente

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Sometimes, I like to play with other people's characters.
> 
> I’m baaaa _aaaaack._
> 
> There are probably like two people in this fandom who remember me. If that. If no one does, that’s fine. Actually, it’s better for purposes of this story. For those who don’t know (most of you, probably), I’m the author of the orphaned story We Make Our Stars in this here fandom. My name is Vena. I’m the author of a bunch of other things as well, both original and fic, but I took most of my stories down about three years ago when I was going through a divorce because they made me _sad,_ man.
> 
> But here we are. 2020, quarantine, a global pandemic, and my new partner, who is also a writer and a nerd like me, somehow managed to coerce me into reading this story to him out loud. I had so much fun that I decided to ~~seek external validation~~ see what a new audience thought here on AO3, just for shits and giggles.
> 
> This story is complete. I wrote it in 2017. I will be posting one chapter per week, updated from the original where I decided I couldn’t stand my original writing anymore. There are ten chapters plus an epilogue. There are also a whole ass bucket of OCs because I like girls and if you have a problem with that, idk. You’ll manage. 
> 
> Onward ~

Synesthesia  
( _sĭn 'ĭs - thē' zhə_ )

_n._ – a perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway, often experienced as the production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another 

× × × × ×

Haruka looked up from the thick packet of paper on her desk. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Some time ago, the sky had started to turn colors, softening the light pouring in behind her from windows nearly the height of the ceiling. It was an incredible view, even with a neighboring skyscraper taking up half of it. When she noticed the darkened room, she straightened, bending her hands back, a rush of relief following the audible crack of her knuckles. 

At first, she didn’t hear the knock, but she recognized the face when a familiar lavender head stepped through the door she’d forgotten to close. Her visitor frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

“Why are you still here? I thought you’d left hours ago.”

“Sorry, Minami-chan,” she responded, halfway standing up. But the other woman held up a hand, motioning for her to sit back down. She walked behind her and brushed Haruka’s hair to the side, who sat up straighter as skilled fingers began to work knots out of her shoulders that she hadn’t realized she had. “It’s that proposal I was telling you about for the new HEAVENS album. I thought I’d finish looking it over while I was still here.”

“And how long ago was that?” Minami asked, moving upward toward Haruka’s neck.

“Um,” she glanced toward the opposite wall, trying not to move her head too much. “A couple of hours ago, I think. I guess the time got away from me.”

“Haruka,” Minami chided. “You have to stop doing this to yourself. You’re going to get wrinkles.”

“I found my first ones in the mirror last week,” she conceded, laughing a little.

Minami continued working, Haruka indicating a few points of tension she’d only become aware of in the last few minutes. When Minami was done, she brushed her hands down Haruka’s shoulders and stepped back so she could stand, picking up the proposal on her desk. A few more joints popped as Haruka stood, and she saw Minami look over the proposal at her with narrowed eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly.

“These boys are sure demanding,” Minami retorted, flipping through the pages. 

“They want to do a concept record this time. It takes a little more planning.” She pulled on her jacket, a cropped yellow leather thing that brought out the pink in her hair. “The transitions have to be really tight, and there’s a lot to think about with rendering, effects, mood—all on top of the actual composing.”

“They couldn’t have left all that to you, though?”

“Oh, they will.” Haruka smiled, and Minami looked up in time to catch it. “This is just the way Eiichi is. He likes to be thorough. It actually makes my job easier, because I don’t have to come up with everything myself.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Minami handed the file to Haruka, who slipped it into her bag. The two of them walked out the door together, Haruka shutting the lights out on her way as they made their way down the long corridor. It didn’t escape Haruka’s notice that all the lights to the rooms were out. 

“Oh, I was supposed to tell you. Someone came by to see you.”

“Who was it?” She turned to Minami, who thumbed her chin.

“I think his name was Hiroyama. I forget—”

“Oh no!” Haruka nearly jumped. “What time is it?”

Minami glanced at her phone. “A quarter to eight—”

“I have to go! I’ll see you on Monday!”

“Let Michiko take you!” Minami called. But Haruka was already halfway down the corridor. She turned as she was running:

“I’ll be fine!”

And then she was out of the suite, the door closing loudly behind her, her phone already halfway out to call a cab. In front of the elevator, she held her phone between her ear and shoulder while she located her wallet in her bag.

—“Yes, hello? Pickup for one, Divine Tower, Shibuya,” she said, flipping through the business cards in her wallet until she found the one she was looking for. She made a mental note to clear them out later, stepping into the elevator door as it opened. “—Yes, that’s fine. Nanami Haruka. Thank you.”

She hung up, balancing her load over one arm while she checked her notifications. A reminder from over an hour ago to head home and get ready, which she dismissed. Plus a text:

_Still on for tonight?_

The text was from over three hours ago. She sighed to herself, slipping the card back into her purse. He’d beaten her to it. She swiped across the text to respond:

_Yes, of course. I’m running a little late. I’m so sorry. I got caught up in work._

The elevator arrived at the ground floor, and she looked out into the entryway in both directions as she exited, shouldering her bag. The taxi was just pulling up. She climbed in and gave the driver her address, and when she looked at her phone again, there was already a response:

_You work too much._

_Let me know when you get home. I have a table waiting._

Haruka’s stomach sank.

_You’re already there?!_

She breathed out slowly, chewing on her lip. Of course he was already there. Her first date in months, and already she’d messed it up. For a moment, she mulled over whether she should just go straight to the restaurant. But then her phone buzzed again.

_I don’t mind. The music is very good._

_Take your time. I’ll see you soon._

She typed out a response, then put her phone away and sat back into the seat. She was suddenly very thankful that she’d decided to move closer to the studios. It had meant downsizing, but the last thing she needed right now was a thirty-minute drive to her old apartment, on top of already being late.

When the cab pulled up to the curb, Haruka paid the driver, practically running into the building as she stepped out. It occurred to her too late to ask him to wait for her—by the time she’d thought of it, the cab was already pulling away.

Haruka sighed, turning around again. She dug through her purse for her keys as she waited for the elevator, resisting the urge to tap her foot, practically diving into it when the doors opened and out again when it alighted on the eighth floor.

“Momo-chan, I forgot to feed you, didn’t I,” she said as she unlocked the door to her unit. A swirl of cream and orange licked around her ankles. Setting her bag on the counter, she swept her cat into her arms while she located her container of food. Momo purred loudly against her chest, wriggling free as she filled the bowl. Haruka ran her fingers over her small head. “I know. I’m sorry. I have to go again. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

She didn’t have time to do much with her hair, so she just grabbed her hairbrush from the vanity by the door and walked back to her closet, staring at its contents for a moment while she brushed her hair. It had gotten longer, recently—long enough to wear up. That would do. She twisted it into a simple knot at the nape of her neck and grabbed one of her sleeveless dresses from the back of her closet, a dark blue number with a deep cowl neck that Tomo had insisted made her look like a Greek goddess. For a moment, her mind flashed to Cecil, before the thought vanished again and she clasped the halter behind her neck, keeping the necklace she’d been wearing that day—a small sapphire on a delicate gold chain, which had been a gift from her grandmother. Thankfully, her makeup from the day had held up well—she brushed a bit of fresh powder over her face and was out the door again.

When she arrived at the restaurant, she checked her phone, relieved to see that only a little over half an hour had passed since she’d left the studio. She was only about twenty minutes late. The host showed her back to her table, where a man with dark hair and thick-framed glasses was turned toward the pianist in the center of the room. She followed his gaze for a moment, half expecting to see Masato at the bench, but the young woman playing was unfamiliar to her. 

When she pulled out her chair, her date turned toward her. She couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased when she saw his eyes grow just a little wider.

She’d changed jackets at the last minute, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as she undid the sash and slid it over the back of her chair. That had also been Tomo: _Watch their face when they see you in this dress, she’d said. That’ll tell you all you need to know._

“That was fast,” he said.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said, smiling. 

“Getting ready for dates with dashing men?”

At that, Haruka laughed, taking the menu in her hands as she sat down. A few years ago, she would have blushed. “With covering up the fact I completely lost track of time,” she said. She looked up at him. “I am sorry about that, Akito. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“I figured it was worth my time.” There was a slight edge to the look he gave her, one that sent another small thrill of satisfaction through her. “Actually, I stopped by earlier, but was told you weren’t to be disturbed.”

“Was it a woman about my height with long, lavender hair?” She asked, indicating the wine she wanted to the waiter when he stopped by.

Akito shook his head. “Taller, silver and gold hair. I very clearly remember her fingernails.”

Haruka laughed again. “You got Kondo-chan. Even better. I’m sorry for anything else she may have said.”

“You don’t mean Kondo Ikumi, from HONEY BIRD?” His glass was halfway raised to his lips, and he took a sip while Haruka nodded.

“The very same. Divine Agency is run completely by women, and they only work with female artists. Sometimes she likes to stand guard at the reception desk to make sure the men stay away.”

“Well, then. Now I know not to take it personally.”

“Oh, no. What did she say?”

But Haruka never heard his response. One minute, she was enjoying a nice, normal dinner with a nice, normal man—the next, the ceiling was rolling back as a strong wind suddenly rushed into the restaurant.

Haruka had only a couple of seconds to prepare herself. Before she knew it, the room erupted as restaurant patrons and staff alike dove under tables, behind chairs, covering themselves however they could while food and cutlery were sent flying. Haruka and Akito looked at each other for a moment in disbelief before a lingonberry tart that cost as much as her groceries for the week zoomed past her face, barely missing her. She ducked down, drawing her arm across her eyes, and was lowering herself down to the floor as she heard her name—

_“Haruka!”_

She felt a pressure at her side, then felt a swooping motion. For a moment, she couldn’t see anything at all and she swung her head, frantic, trying to see something other than a swirl of grey and white swimming in her vision. But she registered the sound of her name growing distant, then the ground slowly getting further and further away. 

When she realized she was in the air, she nearly screamed. Her breath caught as she first noticed the strong arm in a white jacket that was keeping her rooted to a platform. Before long, the wind swallowed all other sounds. She turned as best she could to get a look at the man’s face but all she saw was a white mask. They continued to rise, until eventually the platform came to a stop in the belly of the helicopter.

She was deposited roughly. She fell to her hands and knees, her fingers shaking. Whoever had lifted her into the air seemed to have disappeared—so she thought, until she felt a headset clap over her ears and couldn’t suppress a yelp.

“Nanami Haruka?” Came a distant-sounding voice in the headset, one she wasn’t familiar with.

“Y-yes?” She was still on all fours, her stomach swooping now. She was grateful she hadn’t eaten yet.

“Please make your way to one of the seats along the wall and strap in. We’ll have you to your destination shortly.”

× × × × ×

About 30 minutes later, helicopter deposited her at the end of a long walkway. All around her were the grounds of a resort house tucked into the mountains. She recognized it after a moment as the place where the master course students had gone on their vacation, where they’d been when Cecil first joined STARISH. There were a few lights on in the main house, and she was thankful for it. It had been a long time since she’d gotten out of the city and she’d forgotten how dark it could get.

She picked her way down the path, watching the ground, her heels sinking slightly into the dirt until she became annoyed enough with them that she removed them. The resort was large, but it wasn’t _that_ large. And she could see the house, she reminded herself. She couldn’t possibly get too lost. 

But as she began to walk, Haruka became confused. When she entered the main complex, the first door she reached was locked, as was the second—and though she’d seen lights on at the top of the hill, quick looks into the windows she passed revealed all of them to be empty. There were no voices, either. The wind and the sounds of her feet on the worn wood were the only sounds she could hear. The helicopter was long gone.

She wandered for a few more minutes, taking stock of her situation, until she began to notice the cold that had set in once the sun had gone down. When she’d been airlifted out of the restaurant, she hadn’t had time to grab anything—her jacket was probably where she’d left it, still draped over the back of the chair, unless someone had removed it by then. Her purse had been left behind, too. But this had happened enough times by now that she knew she wasn’t alone. She tried not to worry, instead wrapping her arms around herself and continuing on, hoping she wasn’t walking in circles. 

Eventually, she came to a place where the path split. She paused, looking in each direction before choosing one—but when she turned the corner, her heart sank a little when she realized it led out toward the entryway to the complex that she’d passed through a few minutes ago. She backtracked, sweeping a hand through her hair. The knot she’d tied it in for her date had begun to come undone, and tendrils of hair swept over her face in the soft wind. 

She turned a corner, then another. Then, she saw Jinguji Ren standing in the middle of a deck that looked out over the grounds. His back was to her. When she saw him, Haruka felt a wave of relief, which doubled when she glanced behind him and saw a soft glow emanating from inside, laughter and voices bubbling toward her.

“Everyone,” she said, mostly to herself. 

At the sound of her voice, Ren turned toward her. She smiled a bit in greeting, waiting for whatever nickname he would acknowledge her with. 

He looked at her. A couple of moments passed. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away, either. 

Haruka’s hand slipped higher on her arm. Her shoes were dangling at her side, still covered in dirt. Something in his expression changed. He closed the distance between them, walking behind her as he slid his jacket over her shoulders.

“My Lady,” he finally said. 

“Jinguji-san—”

“Ren,” he corrected gently, his voice low in her ear. “We’re long past these formalities.”

She shivered as the lining of the coat touched her bare back. He removed his hands from her shoulders. Then he walked past her, toward the noise she was no longer sure how she’d missed.

She sighed. Some things never changed. After a moment, she followed him, holding the lapels of his jacket so it wouldn’t slip off her, the warmth of it more of a relief than she was expecting. 

He led her around the side of the house, to what looked like a large anteroom stocked with lush rugs, couches, even a couple of game tables. She hadn’t even passed the doorway when everyone was suddenly on top of her. Syo reached her first, enveloping her in a hug so tight and close that the hat he was wearing tipped back—Natsuki was right behind him, lifting her in the air when Syo had released her so that when she touched ground again, a little unsteady, she was in a circle of them, Cecil managing to land a kiss on her cheek before the others pulled him off her. Everyone was laughing, smiling, telling her how much they’d missed her. She smiled over the melee at Tokiya as Tomo pushed her way through, first hugging her, then holding her arms as she looked her over.

“Nanami Haruka, you’re wearing the dress!”

“Yes.” This immediately garnered the attention of the others, and Haruka felt small blush bloom on her cheeks. She found right then that she didn’t really want to elaborate. But all the same, she knew that she couldn't _lie._ Tomo would just corner her later, and the others would inevitably find out. 

“Shining’s helicopter came while I was on a date,” she said, very quietly.

The tone of the melee changed. A few of them stilled. Natsuki looked shocked. 

“Haruka-chan, you’re seeing someone?” He asked, like it was a strange thing.

“Who is it?” Otoya asked.

“He’s an executive at an ad agency I worked with a few weeks ago. I don’t know if I’m seeing him, though. We just had dinner.” Haruka’s blush deepened, and she touched a finger to her lip. “Well, we tried to. He probably won’t want to see me again, with what happened tonight…”

“Good.” She looked over at Masato, who looked suddenly very stern. He had changed his hair, she noticed; he wore it shorter, now, with a long fringe that covered part of his face. And were those earrings—? “If he is deterred by what happened, then he isn’t worthy of you.”

“Hijirikawa,” Ren warned.

“What? Do you disagree?”

She scanned the room, feeling a slight rush of panic at the argument that was about to break out. But it never came. The room began to fill with white smoke that appeared to be coming from the ceiling, accompanied by a bellowing laugh. Everyone looked at each other.

“That voice—”

A few of them who were at the back of the crowd had to duck out of the way when a large man in a red tie suddenly swung down into their number from the balcony above, executing a number of somersaults midair before landing in a semicircle that had cleared when the others filed into place around Haruka. Ryuuya and Tsukimiya stepped in on either side of him, Ringo waving at them with a grin. Then, to Haruka’s immense surprise, a woman with long, lavender hair stepped out of the smoke. She crossed her arms, glaring at Shining over one shoulder.

“All Saints, Saotome, what kind of an entrance is this?”

_“Minami-chan?”_

Everyone, including Minami, turned to look at Haruka. Minami smiled a bit. 

“Hello, Lovely,” she said, her eyes unexpectedly sad. But her attention turned immediately back to Saotome, who was speaking. 

_“Very good,”_ he rumbled in English. “You’re all here, now. Which means we can _beginnn._ ”

The last word had three syllables. The sunglasses he never seemed to be without flashed at them under the spotlight.

 _“Miss Nanami,_ I have an assignment for you.”

QUARTET NIGHT had turned their way from where sitting on the couches on the other side of the room and were just as engaged, now, as STARISH.

 _“You…”_ he pointed at Haruka, who flinched. “…will perform a _piano concerrrt,_ with STARISH as your ensemble.”

Haruka gaped. Then she cringed. Then, Tomo wrapped her arm through hers and she felt a warm hand on her back, and glanced over her shoulder to see Natsuki was standing right behind her, looking more stern than she’d ever seen him on this side of his personalities. 

“What?” She gasped out, her voice small.

 _“That’s righttt,”_ he said in English, grinning now. He was still pointing at her. “You have proven yourself worthy as a composer for many idols. But now you will prove yourself worthy as a composer at the _next level._ I call it… _Grand Reversal._ ”

He lowered his hand. She felt panic bloom as Syo jumped in front of her, a fist raised.

“Are you crazy? Haruka’s not a performer!”

“Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?” Tokiya interjected.

Shining ignored all of them, laughing again.

“You have one month, _Miss Nanami._ ” He began to walk away, but spun around midstep and pointed at her again. “Prove yourself as a _next level_ composer. Or you will never compose for STARISH again.”

He turned around again, sauntering into the disappearing haze before snapping his fingers. Then, he was gone.


	2. Stringendo

There was a beat. Then two. Everyone in the room looked around at everyone else, no one sure what to say at first. 

Then, the room erupted. 

One of them—she wasn’t sure who at first, but quickly saw it was Masato and Natsuki, whose presence at her side had been replaced by Tokiya—made their way to Ringo and Ryuuya, were looking on respectively with concern and disinterest. Haruka heard bits and pieces of an exchange: _Did you know about this?—Yes, but not in the way you might expect._

But mostly, her head swam. She looked down. The colors in the room before her were starting to run together, and she felt a pressure at the sides of her head, like being sucked through a vacuum. She put a hand to her forehead, trying to stop it—

 _“Haruka!”_ Someone said. 

A beat later, she heard several versions of her name coming from all around her, along with a soft chorus of, _are you alright?_ Her vision had gone black for a moment, and it wasn’t until she felt a pair of arms around her back and looked up into Tokiya’s concerned face that she realized she’d fainted.

“I’m okay,” she said, very quiet, slamming her eyes shut against the bright light while she waited for the feeling of blood rushing through her body to fade. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes to find that Ren and Syo were now at eye level as well. Tokiya was still holding her, the look on his face unreadable. She felt herself blush.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

She scanned herself as best she could, her head still spinning. 

“I think so.”

Tokiya nodded and helped her up, keeping an arm at her back in case she fell again. She held the jacket she’d been given earlier so it wouldn’t slip off. Ren took up guard at her other side. Slowly, the group made its way over to the couches where QUARTET NIGHT were sitting, Ranmaru standing to give her his seat.

“Thank you,” she said to him, her face apologetic. Gingerly, she sat back down, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She was always cold after she fainted.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. As though in response, Cecil immediately sat down next to her and draped an arm across her shoulders, tucking her into his side. And to her surprise, she let him, even clearing up enough space on her other side that one of the others could sit as well, if they wanted to. When it didn’t look like she would be going anywhere anytime soon, the most of the others began to file into the space, taking seats or positions wherever they could find them. 

Tomo took the space she’d cleared and held Haruka’s hand. Otoya sat behind her on the arm of the couch, his arm across her shoulder. Haruka was out of sorts enough that it took a moment of seeing them together before she remembered that the two of them had been dating for nearly a year and a half. 

“Why are you sorry?” Masato asked from behind her. He had his forearms resting on the couch behind Otoya, and she had to crane her neck to look at him. The motion was painful, so she turned back quickly.

“For causing so much trouble for everyone.”

Cecil started running his hand through her hair. Tomo squeezed her hand.

“Don’t say that. You aren’t trouble.” Syo, who was across from her, had taken up against the wall and was looking at her over crossed arms. “It wasn’t fair of Shining to just drop this on you like that. You out of all of us already have the most on your plate.”

“What can we do to make this easier for you?” Ren asked, looking urgent. “We’re here for you. Just tell us what you need.”

Haruka looked around the room. There were a few nods of agreement—even Camus had his eyes closed in what looked like acceptance, probably the closest thing to an agreement that they’d get out of him.

She felt herself begin to tear up. But before she could answer, she heard Otoya speak over Tomo’s shoulder.

“Well, what do we have between us? What can we contribute?” 

The question seemed to activate something in the rest of them, because before she knew it, there were voices coming from everywhere. She couldn’t follow every exchange, but she heard Natsuki:

“QUARTET NIGHT, will you be participating?” 

“We wouldn’t dream of leaving kouhai-chan out to dry,” Reiji answered from somewhere behind her. His voice was followed by a hand on her chin, turning her to face him. “Count on us, _my girl.”_

“Get off her,” Syo interjected, and Reiji stepped back, a hand in the air.

“Stand down, Syo-kun. I don’t mean anything untoward.”

Syo scoffed. 

“Ranmaru, can you play an upright bass?” Tokiya asked from in front of her, changing the subject. He nodded.

“I can.”

Natsuki began running through the list. “Well then—we know we have Syo-kun on violin, me on viola, Camus on cello—”

“Did Shining specify that it has to be STARISH alone as Haruka’s ensemble?” Masato asked Ringo, who stood at the entrance to the space. 

Everyone paused. It was an obvious question, and she was suddenly grateful he’d thought of it when she hadn’t. She felt herself tense, her mind beginning to whir around what she would do in either circumstance.

“There are no rules besides STARISH as her ensemble,” Ringo answered, smiling. “Beyond that, it’s up to Haruka to put together her pieces.”

“So it can be more than just us?” Natsuki clarified.

“I’d say he wouldn’t stop you.”

Syo pushed off the wall. “You know, we have an actual quartet between us, if Tokiya goes on violin—”

“You play violin?” Haruka asked, genuinely surprised. 

Tokiya looked at her, smiling. “I play several instruments. Whatever you need.”

“Well, I’m not sitting this out. We’re not doing just a quartet,” Otoya interjected.

“And if it’s just a quartet, Saotome might disqualify My Lady. That isn’t enough of us,” Ren concurred.

“I want to include all of you,” Haruka said. 

And that settled it. There was another round of nods.

“We have a problem, though.” Otoya turned toward Masato. “My instrument is also piano.”

“Can’t we have two?” Natsuki asked. “It’s been done.”

“But if the point is for Haruka to be the centerpiece…”

Haruka cringed at that, and Cecil tightened his arm around her, his voice low. “You will be amazing.”

Ren crossed his arms, holding his chin. “He never said it had to be a classical concert,” he said, looking over at Masato. “Hijirikawa, would you be able to play a synthesizer?”

“I will learn it,” he said, nodding. “Anything for her.”

That brought a few smiles. Haruka felt the sting of tears again.

“I can back you up on electone,” Tomo added. Masato nodded.

“Then I’ll be your percussion,” Reiji volunteered. Ranmaru shot him a glare.

“You will not, idiot. You’ll mess us all up.”

“I have a perfect sense of rhythm. I’d be happy to show you.” He winked at Haruka.

“Lay off, would you?” Otoya quipped.

“Cecil, what’s that thing you play?” Natsuki asked, changing the subject.

“It’s called a ney,” he answered. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Haruka said, laughing a little. 

“It’s from my home country. To call the muses.”

“You’ll have to show me, so I know how to incorporate it.”

The room went silent, everyone appearing to think. Immediately, her mind went to logistics, and she began running combinations of instruments in her mind based on what she knew. After a minute or so, she heard Masato speak.

“This is quite a mix we have. It isn’t very well-rounded.”

Haruka bit her lip. She’d been thinking the same thing, and she could see around the room that others did as well.

“Icchi, what are you thinking?” Ren asked.

Tokiya paused. “If it’s going to be an ensemble of idols, we aren’t the only ones Haruka has worked with. If we add others, we may find more of a balance.”

“Would HEAVENS be willing to join?”

“Can we do that?” Otoya asked Ringo.

“I don’t see why not,” he said.

“I’ll ask Eiji, then,” Tokiya supplied.

There was another pause. Haruka looked at Minami, who had been silent until this point.

“Minami-chan?”

Minami sighed over crossed arms. “They already know, Lovely. They’re on their way.”

“Who is?” Masato asked.

“HONEY BIRD.” Haruka heard a few sharp breaths around the room. “And CADENZA. They will arrive in the morning. They have several strings.”

Ranmaru scoffed. “I would hope so. There are twelve of them.”

“That’s more than all of us!” Syo nearly shouted.

“Not with HEAVENS,” Tokiya answered.

It took Haruka a moment to realize they were talking about the gender balance. She’d been working with all of them for so long that it seemed strange to think they had never worked together before. But then something else occurred to her. Haruka frowned. 

“Minami-chan…” She paused, touching her chin. “Did you know about this already?”

Minami looked at her, apologetic. “I wanted to tell you. You got away before I could explain.”

“You mean…”

“Michiko.” Haruka paled a little bit. The severe-looking driver for Divine Agency was once a bodyguard, and she’d always intimidated her. Minami came to Haruka and knelt in front of her, her hand resting on the hand Tomo was still holding. “We were going to bring you straight here. Ikumi-chan told Hiroyama not to expect you.”

Haruka’s expression saddened as she put the pieces together. “But he went anyway…”

“That was his choice.” Minami squeezed Haruka’s hand, then stood. “Get some rest, Lovely. We have a long few days ahead.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Syo interjected. Minami looked at him.

“Minami Yoko. I’m a talent manager for Divine Agency.”

There were a few looks around the room as STARISH and QUARTET NIGHT exchanged glances. A couple of them shifted on their feet, and she saw Ringo raise a brow.

“The Lady Killer strikes again,” Reiji said from behind her. 

Minami pointed at him. “Watch it, Kotobuki. I know where you live.”

“Oh, I don’t live there anymore,” he said with a wink. 

Haruka blinked. Minami rolled her eyes. “Long time ago, Lovely. Ask Kanako. It’s not my story to tell.” She turned to leave. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. That earned a smile from Minami, who waved over her shoulder as she departed.

It wouldn’t be a difficult promise to keep. As the room went quiet again, Haruka realized for the first time how tired she really was. It had been at least a few hours since she’d left work that day—and on top of fainting, she hadn’t eaten since lunch. While others continued talking and planning around her, it wasn’t long before she felt herself beginning to nod off, the feel of Cecil’s fingers through her hair the only thing she was aware of. She didn’t know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again to find him smiling down at her.

“Did I fall asleep?”

No one else seemed to hear. Cecil stilled his fingers and tucked her head back against his shoulder, his hand providing a comforting darkness that she slipped under again until she awoke to the sound of her name.

The circle had diminished somewhat. Ringo and Ryuuya were gone, as was half of QUARTET NIGHT.

“How long was I…?”

“About an hour,” Tomo said. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

She was aware of the tingling sensation of low blood sugar when she went to stand, pausing for a moment as she waited for the rush of blood to pass. This time, Ren was the first to reach her side—she found she didn’t need help walking, but was still grateful for his presence.

She turned toward Tomo. “Where am I staying?” 

“Same as last time. If you remember where that is.”

“I remember.”

“Are you okay to go?” Otoya asked. 

She smiled a bit and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Oh—Jinguji-san, this is yours—”

She went to remove the coat, but his hand stilled on her shoulder.

“I’ll get it later. Get some rest.”

He removed his hand. 

“Okay.” She looked past him. “Everyone…thank you.”

She turned to go.

“Kouhai-chan.” 

She stopped, turning back toward where Reiji was looking at her with one of his unreadable expressions. 

“This man you were meeting? If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

× × × × ×

A few hours later, Haruka found herself curled up on a chair at the writing table in her room, biting her lip as she stared at a half-finished sheet of lined paper. With her eraser, she tapped out a six-eight beat on the table, envisioning what would come next. In her mind, she played the measures over and over again, waiting for the song to reveal itself to her and writing it down whenever it did.

She’d tried to sleep. When she’d arrived to her room—which was hers alone, as it had been the last time she was here—she had, even in her addled state, been wholly unsurprised to find a set of bags had been left for her on the bed. There were two of them, beautiful pink leather things she was sure had cost the equivalent of a commission, maybe two. That they were filled with her clothes had been initially surprising until she noticed the basket of snacks that had been left for her on the table, filled with the sort of fare that was often around the office at Divine: chocolate croissants, fruits, delicate pastries, packages of tea cakes nestled into individually wrapped tea bags. She’d known this was Minami even before seeing the note in her letterhead that was tucked into one side.

_Haruka,_

_I’ve been wanting to talk with you about this for some time. The truth is, I don’t believe Saotome is allowing you to realize your full potential. He and I have been in negotiations for some time regarding a transfer of your contract._

_The decision is wholly yours._

_Minami_

The note was still open on the table next to her. She’d re-read it several times before the meaning sunk in. And even then, her mind ran wild. She’d taken down her hair—at least, what little of it was still up—and changed into a set of warm sleeping clothes, going through her nightly routine on autopilot until she’d climbed into bed. 

After a couple of hours had passed, she’d realized that she had never closed her eyes, and had instead been staring at the ceiling as though it had words on it.

Eventually, she’d given up. She hadn’t had the chance to bring any of her work with her—she’d conspicuously noticed the folio from HEAVENS had _not_ been included with her belongings, though the purse and jacket she’d left at the restaurant had been returned to her. But she remembered the list of projects she had lined up well enough. That, she figured, was a product of her workspace being different every week, sometimes every day. Becoming good at keeping things straight was an occupational necessity.

She was mid-way through a measure when she heard a knock at her door. She looked up, realizing that she’d left her door partway open.

“Come in,” she said, and turned back to her paper, finishing the measure she was writing before she could forget it.

“Little Lamb,” came Ren’s voice. She looked up. “Why are you still awake?”

“Jinguji-san,” she acknowledged. “I’m a little old for that nickname, don’t you think?” 

“Ren,” he corrected, as he had earlier. He’d barely entered the room and was leaning against the wall by the door, which was still slightly open. “And perhaps. I’m more concerned about you.”

Her smile turned sad. “I tried to sleep, but I just kept turning over. I thought if I were going to be up, I may as well make use of the time.” She set her pencil down and turned more fully toward him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Why are you awake.”

“Ah. That.” He returned her smile. “I haven’t gone to sleep before three a.m. in months.”

She nodded. “Because of the tour, right?”

After the decisive concert leading up to the SSS games, STARISH had followed in the footsteps of QUARTET NIGHT and gone on tour around the country at Shining’s insistence—and after their international popularity exploded in the wake of the opening ceremony, they’d extended their act abroad, with shows in Japan and overseas following every new record they released. And whenever the group returned from tour, there were always ads and appearances, interviews and photoshoots. Aside from Tomo, whom she saw regularly, the last of them that she’d seen had been Natsuki, for a commercial she happened to be working on—and that had been six months ago. 

“You remembered.”

She cocked her head, crossing her arms over her knees. “Of course I remember. I followed every show.” 

It had been their third international tour, their seventh overall. It was hard to miss them when they were everywhere. On every other billboard and in seemingly every ad, she saw them all the time without actually seeing them. Their band’s Instagram page had over 20 million followers, nearly four times that when their individual pages were added in. It wasn’t the same, of course, but she was happy for them. 

His smile softened. “What would we do without you?” 

Her face fell. She remembered Minami’s letter, and couldn’t help but glance over her arm to where it still lay, open and untouched. “Don’t say that,” she said.

He stepped off the wall and walked toward her, moving the piano bench to the table and sitting on it so he was straddling it. “I don’t like that look,” he said. He rested a hand against his temple, looking at her until she met his eyes. “If you’re worried about the performance, you’re going to do just fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she let slip, touching a knuckle to her lip that she had to remember not to chew. She met his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that. I just—”

He took the hand that wasn’t pressed to her lips and ran his thumb across it, squeezing once. When he released it, she faced him again. 

“Is this for the concert?” He said after a beat, nodding at the composition she’d been working on. 

She shook her head. “No. This is for CADENZA.” He slid the piece toward him, along with the completed page she’d finished before that. “It’s amazing how well they work together. There are twelve of them, but they never fight. Writing for them is like breathing.”

“Not like us.” He glanced up at her. She shook her head again.

“Writing for you is like…dancing, I think. You move in and out of each other. And you push each other sometimes, but it’s always to new heights.”

He turned back toward the paper, running his fingers over the measures. “That’s you,” he said after a moment.

She smiled, and he turned again in time to see it. “I don’t think so. Maybe a little bit. But it’s all of you who breathe life into it.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded again. When he was finished reading, he slid the piece back over to her. “You know, there’s actually a piece I’m working on that could use your eye.”

She couldn’t completely suppress her shock. “You’re composing?”

“I’ve begun to, sometimes.” 

There was a level of vulnerability in his face that she hadn’t seen before. She beamed, and it ebbed somewhat. “Ren-san, that’s wonderful! Will you show me tomorrow?”

She put her fingers to her lips again. She’d used his given name without even thinking about it, and she could see in his expression that he’d noticed.

“I have it with me.” He reached for one of his pockets, then paused. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“No, no. Minami-chan always says I need to be better about taking breaks. I want to.”

He smiled at her in his old way, with something under his gaze. “Then who am I to deny My Lady?”

She laughed a little, not completely stifling a blush, taking the paper he offered. She laid it out on top of the composition she’d been working on, turning her desk lamp further toward her so she could read it better. To her surprise, it was only pieces—more of a suggestion of a piece than the sort of line-by-line composition she usually wrote. But it took her only a moment to realize why.

“It’s jazz,” she said, turning toward him.

He arced a brow. “Were you expecting something else?”

“No, I—” She reached for her pencil reflexively, holding her finger over the tip and scanning beneath the lines, reading it again. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He turned so that he could read it as well, leaning on one arm. “It needs something.”

She looked at him. “May I?”

“Please.”

She closed her eyes, then, thinking for a moment, her fingers playing the melody on an invisible keyboard. She visualized the spaces between the measures he’d written, looking into her memories of the few times she’d heard him play, trying to imagine as best she could how he might improvise within them. After a moment, she opened her eyes and added a few measures. Then she looked it over again and changed a couple of notes around in those that had already been written. She slid it back to him.

“What do you think?”

He looked it over. It didn’t take long. “Perfect,” he said. “But what if we—”

He reached out his hand and she handed him the pencil, watching as he too bent over the sheet and added a few measures. He slid it back to her. She smiled as she read it, then took the pencil and added a few more of her own.

They continued like that for a while, writing and adding, changing things around. Whenever it was his turn to write, she played the melody in her head and couldn’t resist the impulse to tap it out with her fingers. At one point, she was so lost in it that she didn’t realize what she was doing until she heard her name.

“Haruka,” he said. She snapped out of it and turned to him, his expression unreadable. “That’s exactly how I would improvise.”

There was a beat. She looked down, blushing.

“How do you do it?”

Another beat.

“I…pay attention.” She felt her blush deepen. “The better I know someone, the easier it is for me to compose for them. It’s like I can…become them, in a way, through music.”

He didn’t say anything. A long moment passed, and Haruka brushed her fingers over the notes they’d written. She felt him watch her hand. 

“I’m keeping you up. You should get some sleep,” he finally said. His voice was softer. He looked at her. “I want to do this again.” 

She smiled. “Me too, Jin—Ren-san,” she amended. 

He began to reach out a hand toward her, but stopped midway, letting it rest on the back of her chair instead. His fingers grazed her shoulders. Then he stood, picking up the sheet and folding it again.

“I’ll bring this back. I may work on it in the meantime.”

“That’s fine,” she said, smiling again. 

He nodded, turning to go. She watched him as he did. Halfway there, though, she saw him glance at the dress she’d hung on the folding screen in the corner of the room. He paused.

“My Lady,” he said, not quite looking at her. “This man you’re seeing. Is it serious?”

She blushed fiercely, grateful he was facing the other way. “We just met recently. Tonight was the first time we’d seen each other outside of work.”

He nodded, then continued toward the door. One hand on it, he turned toward her, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight,” she replied.

He closed the door behind him, leaving her to figure out why her heart had fluttered when he looked at her.


	3. Marcato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi surprise I'm changing my posting day, have fun x

The next morning, Haruka woke only shortly after her usual time to full sunlight streaming through her window. She’d forgotten to close the blinds. Not that it mattered—she had to be up in order to get started on her work. 

The thought of how much there was to do sent a quick course of panic through her. She did her best to dismiss it, sitting up slowly and wincing a little as her joints cracked. Once on her feet, she rooted through the larger of the bags Minami had left for some kind of jacket, glancing at Ren’s for a moment when she realized it was still where she’d left it, hanging on the back of her desk chair. He hadn’t taken it with him.

Eventually, she managed to locate a sweater, along with a new pair of house shoes that were, for some reason, fragrant with the smell of lavender. She dug through the bag below them for the culprit, pulling out a set of bath salts that she puzzled over for a minute before remembering there was a bathhouse on the property. That a fluffy white robe was taking up half the remaining space in the bag told her Minami had had help in preparing this. _Ringo,_ she thought. She closed the bag, placing the salts with her remaining toiletries, and made her way to the kitchen.

It took a minute or so of wandering around the halls before she remembered which direction it was. She tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn as she walked in. Tokiya had his back to her and was filling a carafe with water, presumably for coffee. 

She glanced at the clock. It was 7:35. She’d slept for a little over three hours, and it would presumably be about that long before the others were up.

“Did you sleep?” Tokiya asked, pouring the water into the coffee machine tucked into one corner of the counter. 

“Not really,” she admitted. She smiled a little. He smiled in return, then turned on the machine and turned to face her, leaning against the counter.

“That’s normal.”

She puzzled a little at that, frowning. “What is?”

“A debut. It’s normal to be nervous.”

Haruka drew her arms tighter around herself. She glanced away. “It’s scary when you put it that way.”

He stepped toward her, then, but stopped short, moving so he was leaning against the counter of the kitchen island separating them. He looked at her intently. “That’s normal, too. When I debuted as HAYATO, I was nervous for days leading up to it.”

She looked at him, paused. “Really?”

He nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Very. I was only fifteen at the time. My parents had divorced, and neither of them associated with me after I decided to become an idol. I’ve still barely spoken with them. It was a lonely time for me.”

“Ichinose-san.” She took a step closer to the counter, her finger against her lip. “I never knew that.”

There was a beat. He nodded. “It won’t be like that for you. We’re here for you, every step of the way.” She smiled. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but at that moment, Natsuki ambled in, a hand in his hair. 

“You’re up early.”

“My stomach woke me up.” Tokiya nodded. Natsuki then turned, saw Haruka, and jumped a bit when he saw her, rushing over to her. He laid a hand on her back, turning her toward him and looking her over. “Haru-chan, why are you up so early? You should be asleep! Is everything okay?”

She nodded, smiling a little while he fretted over her. 

“I tried. Don’t worry. It happens a lot, I’m used to it.”

“What, not sleeping?”

She nodded. 

“It’s been that way since I was young. Really, don’t trouble yourself. It doesn’t happen so often anymore, usually just when I’m worried about something big.”

Natsuki’s expression turned very sad. “ _Haru-chaaan,_ I don’t like that.” An idea occurred to him, then, and he straightened. “I know. Drink a cup of warm milk before you go to bed. Then you’ll sleep.”

She chuckled a bit, his antics a soft comfort. Natsuki frowned, but relented, leaning onto his forearms on the counter in front of him. After a moment, he cocked his head and glanced at Haruka. 

“You know, in a way, you’ve basically been performing this whole time.”

This thoroughly perplexed her, and it took her a moment to respond. 

“What?”

But he was picking up steam, a finger in the air now as he made his way to the fridge. “Think about it, Haru-chan! When we play your songs, the world is already hearing you. It’s been hearing you this whole time!”

He scanned the contents of the fridge. She glanced at Tokiya.

“That’s not…entirely wrong,” he admitted, glancing at her for a moment before pouring the coffee. “How do you take it?” 

“Like that.”

Tokiya looked at her, surprised. “Really.” 

“But it’s so bitter!” Natsuki interjected.

Her smile widened, and she took the cup Tokiya handed to her. The warmth felt good on her hands. “It’s faster. You get used to it.” 

Tokiya looked at Natsuki, flashing a grin. “It’s healthier, too. Not that you would know anything about that.”

Masato walked in, aiming a cross look at Natsuki.

“You have no business preparing breakfast. Especially not for Haruka.”

Natsuki pouted. “How did you know?”

The look intensified. “Are you serious?”

Haruka turned toward him. “If he can’t help, can I?”

Masato paused, considering. He nodded. Ren was the next one in, shortly on Masato’s heels, and she heard a sound of disapproval from behind her while she was gathering supplies from the fridge.

“You’re making her work?”

No nickname. She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s okay, I want to.” She paused, then, glancing behind her again, first at Ren, then at the others as the strangeness of their presence dawned on her. “Why are you all up so early?”

“Because we have a lot of work to do.” Syo ambled in with a hand in his hair, looking like he was half asleep. She puzzled at this until Tokiya elaborated.

“We need to practice together. While you write, we will assess what we’re even capable of. We agreed to be up early.”

“It was his idea.” Syo shrugged a shoulder at Ren, then made his way to one of the barstools, his hands over the back of his neck. He looked at the coffee. She looked at Ren again, who was looking at her with a look she didn’t quite understand. “Is there any of that left?”

“We want you to be able to focus on preparing yourself,” Ren told her in a lowercase voice meant only for her. She was about to protest, but when his look turned serious, her words died on her tongue.

“Help yourself,” Tokiya answered Syo, who grunted. After a moment, Haruka turned back to them and smiled, then stepped over to pour him a cup. 

“I can get it—”

“I’ve got it.” She looked at Syo over her shoulder, still smiling. 

“Ah, thanks.” He blushed a little. “Creamer. Lots of it. For the coffee.”

She nodded, handed the cup to him. Then Tomo and Otoya came in, Otoya with his hands above his head in an aggressive yawn. Tomo touched her shoulder.

“Why are you awake?” Her voice was filled with concern. Haruka smiled.

“Good, there’s food,” Otoya said in the background.

“Give us twenty minutes,” Masato replied.

“You’re the third person to ask me that,” she confessed to Tomo.

“Don’t tell me you were up late composing.”

Her smile turned guilty. “I won’t tell you, then.” Tomo sighed. It was a large sigh. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” 

She made her way over to Masato’s workspace with the breakfast foods she could find, and he moved over to make room for her. That seemed to be some sort of cue, because the others cleared out except for Tokiya, Tomo the last of them, glancing pointedly over her shoulder as she made her way out with two coffees. 

“I do worry. That’s my job as your best friend.”

“I’ll be fine!” Haruka smiled broadly, even laughed a little. 

The three of them lapsed into companionable silence as Haruka began breaking eggs. She’d missed this, and the realization of how much send something like desire through her. It was enough that she stilled for a moment, pausing over her work.

She needed this. She needed _them._ This was her home. 

_Home,_ she thought.

She thought again of Minami’s letter. What would it mean for her work with STARISH if she transferred agencies? She didn’t want to think about that, so she brushed it aside, grateful to have the task of preparing breakfast at hand, looking over at Tokiya after a moment, who was cutting peppers and tomatoes for what looked like omelets. 

“You’re allowed to help, but no one else is?” 

Masato answered her, his focus on some kind of meat he was cutting. “His cooking isn’t poisonous.” 

Tokiya smiled a bit at that. “But it certainly isn’t as lively.”

She smiled at them over her shoulder, dipping back into the conversation long enough to register that Masato was recounting a story about one of Natsuki’s creations while they were on tour. At some point, Ren had come back in, taking a position at the entrance to the kitchen that was out of the way. She heard something regarding a concert. She had her back to them in the alcove kitchen, and it took everything in her not to ask about it.

Gradually, as food smells began to waft out, the others began to file back in as well. They proved ample distraction—Tomo tucked herself into the corner between Haruka and the counter while she worked, and they chatted about the fanclub that had recently formed around her relationship with Otoya. Their relationship had been a surprise to everyone, coming seemingly out of nowhere after their second international tour. But with both of them being idols, it had had the opposite effect that everyone had expected. Both of their individual popularities had gone up instead of down. 

All she knew was that Shining hadn’t stopped them. She still didn’t know why. 

She turned over the last omelet, and Tomo held the tray up while she transferred the contents of her pan onto it. Masato brushed by, then, one tray on each forearm, and took hers as well in a balancing act that initially surprised her, until she remembered this was Masato, and he tested himself at seemingly every opportunity he was presented with. The others filed out—there was chatter and laughter in the other room, chairs being pulled back. When she looked up, the kitchen was empty but for her and Ren, who followed her—she glanced at him over one shoulder.

“I’ll find you later, My Lady. If you still want to compose.”

She beamed. “Of course!”

They took up half of the long table in the dining room. Masato had already laid out the spread. They were chattering excitedly, and she saw Syo rubbing his hands together. Somewhat to her surprise, Ren didn’t sit next to her, instead making his way to the end of one line to sit beside Tokiya, who immediately turned to him. She glanced around for a minute before sliding in between Tomo and Natsuki. Syo leaned around his back to say something.

“We’re going to help you get comfortable with yourself,” he promised. 

“It’s important to being able to perform at your best,” Natsuki added. 

She nodded. “I know you’ll teach me everything I need to know.”

Her heart fluttered as she said it, and she bit her lip, looking down. Tomo didn’t miss it, reaching a hand for hers.

“Don’t think about it so much,” she said. Otoya looked at her over Tomo’s shoulder, grinning.

“By the time we’re done with you, you’ll be a star performer!”

Tokiya looked their way for a moment, nodding in agreement. “We’re here for you, like you always are for us.”

“Everyone,” she said.

“And it’s about time I got to work with you! These knuckleheads have been hogging you all these years...” 

Tomo’s voice trailed off, and Haruka laughed outright.

It felt too short. Before she knew it, they were taking their plates back to the kitchen, clearing up what little remained of the meal. She offered to help, but Syo shot a look at her as he walked by, carrying a tray along with his plate.

“Let us take care of you for once.”

“Where’s Cecil?” She heard Tomo ask in the background as Tokiya turned to her, letting the others file past him.

“I’m right here—ah! Did I miss breakfast?”

Tokiya blocked her line of sight, looking at her. “Do you remember when I asked you to share your pain with me?”

She colored a bit, nodding. “Yes.”

That was so long ago. She had never taken him up on it, especially not after—

He laid a hand on her back, his touch barely there. “This is that time. Rely on us,” he said. Then his look changed a bit, his smile just for her. “Rely on me.”

He removed his hand, moving past her. Her blush intensified. But if anyone had seen, she didn’t know.

× × × × ×

Later, in her practice room, she sat at the bench of the piano, staring at several sheets of music that lay nearly untouched on the stand in front of her. On one of them, she’d written a few notes. But most of them were blank.

Her pencil was beside her, her fingers on the keys. Occasionally, they twitched, her muscle memory recalling something she’d played or written in the past. But it was like trying to walk through a wall trying to get anything new to come out of her mind or her hands. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there when the door opened and after a beat, she turned to see Ren standing behind her. He pieced the situation together quickly.

“You’ve hit a block?” He asked.

“It’s like I’ve lost the ability to speak.” 

A moment later, she closed the fallboard over the keys and buried her face in her hand. 

Her next breath was shaky, and the one after that. She felt the pressure of tears building as the weight of the task in front of her settled over her. A moment later, she felt his hand on her back as he sat down on the bench beside her.

“Walk me through it. Where are you stuck?”

She looked at him, not sure of what to say. When several moments passed in silence, he turned to her, his expression serious.

“We’ll find your block and take it apart, piece by piece. It’s how I learn my lines when I’m acting. Where are you stuck?”

She faced forward, looking again at the blank pages without really seeing them. “I…can’t hear a voice.” She turned to see him resting his cheek in his hand, his elbow propped on the fallboard. He raised a brow. “When I compose for others, I’m listening to their voice, the feelings they want to put into the song, so I can put that into the music. But I can’t hear anything. There’s just nothing there.”

She felt a tear fall, saw Ren’s hand dart out to wipe it away. His thumb lingered on her face.

“You feel afraid?”

She nodded. 

“Like I’m going to fail. Like the stakes are too high. I feel like my hands are tied.”

He lowered his hand. “But you don’t feel nothing.”

There was a beat. “No,” she said, uncertain.

He looked at the pages, frowned. “Try channeling that.” After a moment, he turned back to her. “Imagine you’re writing for someone, and they feel afraid. Put that into the song.”

“…I want to make people happy with my music,” she said.

“You do. And you will. But right now, just let this out. It doesn’t have to be a piece you perform.”

She nodded, taking a few deep breaths, trying as best she could to let the weight that had settled over her slip off again. After a moment, she reached for one of the blank sheets on the stand. 

He lowered the hand that was on her shoulder, and she found she immediately missed its presence. But as she let the world fall away, she focused instead on the feeling that was gripping her, letting it well up inside her until her breaths began to come shakily, her head swimming with the panic and uncertainty she hadn’t yet allowed herself to feel to its full magnitude. 

Wave after wave of it came. The vision in her mind’s eye was nothing but black until dark colors began swimming behind her eyes, like she was falling through a tunnel. Her body tensed against it—somehow it felt as though even her mind were holding onto something she couldn’t see but couldn’t bear to lose. 

For a time, it took her down, pulling on her like she had a weight tied to her foot. She covered her neck with her hands. As it washed over her, she held on, her hands tight as though gripping a lifeline. For several minutes, she stayed like that—holding on while a feeling like hot water rushed through her, braced against it. She counted her breaths.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come over her, she felt the waves of panic begin to ebb. She’d found the bottom.

After a few long moments, her breaths evened out again. She opened her eyes, blinking against the light. 

Then she picked up her pencil and began to write.

At first, it came slowly. As she tapped into the panic that was inside her, it was like walking upriver to write it down—it kept moving past her, and she began to notice a feeling of needing to spread herself wider to catch as much of it as possible, more panic welling up at the thought that it would escape her. But then, she let it begin to carry her. The notes came faster, and some distant corner of her mind registered Ren move back out of her way when she leaned over the paper.

She wasn’t sure how long she wrote. When she finished both sides of the page, she took the blank page that Ren handed her and continued, grateful for his presence at her side. When her free hand began to ache, she glanced over at it and saw that her knuckles were white where they were balled up in a fist. She relaxed her hand and looked over again to see Ren reading over the first page she’d written.

“G minor? You don’t usually write in that key.”

“I don’t usually write for myself,” she said, her voice quiet. She crossed an arm over herself. “It felt…honest, somehow.”

“Good.” He slid the papers back to her, then went to stand. He touched her back again. “Keep listening to your emotions.”

“But you said—”

He shook his head, lowering his hand as he stepped away from the bench. “You’re writing for yourself. Listen to yourself, just like you listen to others when you write for them.”

“Where are you going?”

“We took a break. We’re starting practice again.”

“Can I come and listen?”

He smiled a bit. “Later. Right now, this matters more.”


	4. Andante

For years, her work and profile had been rising in a steady, constant trajectory. For every compilation she completed with STARISH, QUARTET NIGHT, or others in Shining Agency, another commission would come her way from someone outside. First, it had been the usual suspects: HEAVENS, solo artists, advertising agencies. Somewhere along the way, she’d gone from being a student of the industry to a seasoned professional. 

And then she’d received a film commission. An enterprising young director had scouted her out to score a film about a journalist who could see back in time to events that happened wherever she was standing. The film won several awards, and her score was widely acclaimed for its complexity and emotional resonance. Not long after, Divine had made contact with her. She’d reached a level wherein it wasn’t just the artists who wanted her, anymore, but other producers. At Divine, she even had her own office—it was at the end of the hall, surrounded by Minami on one side and the director of the agency on the other. 

But it was still somewhat of a shock when she walked into the larger practice room at the end of the hall to find thirty-five idols strewn about the room, many of them in heated arguments. A few of them had recused themselves to the room’s periphery and were watching with a mixture of amusement and disinterest. But the practice area was all but wholly abandoned. A few diligent souls remained at their posts, tuning their instruments or running scales—scanning the room, she counted Masato among them, along with Sumeragi Kira and about half of CADENZA. She barely had time to acknowledge Tokiya, who had spotted her first, before she was crushed in a sea of purple hair. 

_“Haruka-chan!”_

The voice was right in her ear, her face buried in a taller girl’s shoulder for a moment as she wrapped her in a hug, then released her enough to look at her. A pink-haired girl draped herself over the first girl’s shoulders, beaming at Haruka. 

“Ayumi-chan, Rika-chan.”

But before she could respond further, she felt a long fingernail lift her chin and turn her face to the side. Kondo Ikumi was already taller than her, but the thick white platforms she wore meant she had to bend down to look Haruka in the face. Silver and gold curls spilled over her shoulders. Her smile held no warmth.

 _“Lovely,_ when were you going to tell us these boys were keeping you hostage?”

Haruka blinked. “Huh?”

Ikumi’s hand flew to her heart, her expression suddenly distraught. “When I heard what that man had done to you, of _course_ I flew to your aid as quickly as possible. But _never_ did I think that these _men_ were his accomplices—”

Nastuki frowned. “Keeping her hostage?”

“What the hell are you talking about—”

“What who had done to her—?”

Ikumi held up a hand, and the room quieted, but not before she heard rather than saw a few instruments being put down, feeling through the floor the footsteps of several people walking toward them. Suddenly Ikumi was behind her, a hand draped protectively across Haruka’s chest. To her side, Okada Kanako tucked a strand of Haruka’s hair behind her ear.

“We’re here now,” she said, her tone apologetic.

 _“Stop right there.”_ Ikumi’s voice was loud from behind her. Cecil, Ren, and, to her surprise, Ootori Eiichi—who were walking toward them—actually did stop. Haruka held up a hand, turning halfway behind her— 

“Kondo-chan—” 

—and Eiichi, who had reached them first, grinned maliciously at Ikumi, taking Haruka’s hand and pulling her to him. She had to raise a hand to his chest to stop herself, and he draped his arm across her shoulders.

“Keep this up and we may have to kidnap her.”

Alarmed, she looked up at him. But Cecil had reached for her other wrist, and she heard more voices—

“Stop trying to take her, My Lady isn’t a thing—”

“Your lady? She’s no one’s Lady but her own—”

—But Haruka pulled away, both her hands over her head, and began to crouch town, her eyes squinting shut. “Stop it, everyone, stop it—”

“Give her room.” She heard Tokiya’s voice, then looked up to see him pushing the others back. They did—even Eiichi, though she saw him shoot a look at Tokiya. Ikumi was glaring daggers at him.

“How dare you—”

_“Stop!”_

Haruka shouted as she crouched all the way down, her face practically buried in her knees. The room quieted again. There was a beat, then two. When she was sure they weren’t going to start shouting again, she said, “I need everyone to stop fighting.”

After a moment, she heard a sigh, then Tokiya’s voice. “She’s right. This is about her, not us.”

“We need to show her how much we love her by working together,” Cecil added. 

“Whatever we might feel for Haruka individually, we need to put that aside. For her sake.”

She looked up, first at Tokiya, who had been the last to speak, then around the room. Rika bent down and offered her a hand, which she accepted.

“Everyone,” Haruka said. 

She heard Ayumi’s voice over her shoulder. “What can we do to help?” 

“Anything you need,” Rika supplied.

Haruka smiled, relaxing a bit. “Can I just go around and see what everyone plays? That would help me get a feel for things.”

There were nods around the room, scattered with awkward pauses as people shifted back into conversations and discussions, a constant murmur replacing the angry din of when she had walked into the room. A few people milled around in the practice area, grabbing their instruments—most of CADENZA, she found, was already gathering together in a corner of the room. She went there first, Rika and Ayumi in tow. She opened her notebook to a blank page.

“Okay, Rika-chan?”

“Cello,” she said, smiling as she pulled her long pink hair into a ponytail.

“Ayumi-chan?”

“Clarinet.”

“Tomoka-chan?”

“Violin.” 

Haruka nodded, taking notes as she went. They were mostly strings—besides Tomoka and Rika, they had two more violins, a cello, and two violas, plus one of each of the four main woodwinds. 

“You have a small orchestra,” Haruka commented, smiling at her notebook.

“That’s not an accident,” Tomoka answered. 

When Haruka’s expression turned confused, Rika, leaning on Tomoka’s shoulder, elaborated. “We were put together to be a chamber orchestra for other bands in Divine. Then Minami learned we could sing.”

She smiled, and Haruka glanced up from her list in time to see it. When she counted only eleven names, though, she looked up.

“What about Emiko-chan?” 

“I play piano.”

“Oh,” Haruka said, looking a little sad. 

“For us,” Tomoka amended.

“That’s not all she plays in general,” another of them, Umeka, elaborated.

At Haruka’s confusion, a series of grins erupted around the circle. 

“Emiko-chan is something of a musical prodigy.” Ayumi slid an arm over Emiko’s shoulder, and she blushed under her curtain of pale blue hair. 

“She plays twelve instruments.”

“What?!” Haruka gasped. Emiko nodded.

“That’s more than I play.” She heard Tokiya’s voice over her shoulder and turned around partway to find his expression surprisingly warm. Syo stood next to him, his arms crossed, and grinned at Emiko.

“He plays ten. Someone had to beat him eventually.”

Emiko’s blush deepened, elaborating. “My parents were both members of elite orchestras. I grew up around it.”

“But it takes more than just that to do what you do,” Ayumi said. 

While she spoke, Haruka bounced her pencil against her lip, thinking. After a few seconds, she looked back at Emiko.

“Do you play the harp?”

Emiko brightened. “I do! That’s one of my favorites!”

Haruka smiled. “I think I may have an idea for you, Ittoki-kun, and Cecil-san.”

“He may want in on this.” Syo cocked his head at Tokiya. Haruka turned toward them.

“What do you play besides violin?”

Tokiya’s smile turned into a grin. “Try me.”

Haruka laughed. “I’ll find you later, Ichinose-san. I’m going to finish my rounds first.” 

Tokiya nodded, letting her by.

The rest followed quickly. With STARISH and QUARTET NIGHT having been worked out the night before, all that remained were HEAVENS and HONEY BIRD—and as soon as she stepped away from CADENZA, she saw a swirl of black and gold before Kanako had Haruka in her arms, her hands around her shoulders. 

“Okada-chan,” Haruka acknowledged.

“I hear you don’t have any brass,” she said, her eyes wild. “I play French horn.”

“She does have brass,” said Nagi, who had appeared at her side, his hands on his hips. “So does Eiji.”

Kanako frowned, but relented when she saw Haruka’s smile. Over her shoulder, another member of HONEY BIRD, Fukumori Shizuka, looked at them over crossed arms. 

“We need more than just horns if we’re going to include brass.”

Haruka turned to her. “What do you play, Fukumori-chan?”

“Clarinet. And Ritsuko is oboe, Konomi bassoon, and Ikumi plays flute.”

“With those fingernails?” Natsuki had joined them. Shizuka shot him a look, her short silver hair swinging. 

“Makes it easier to tune,” Ikumi breezed, inspecting them. They came to long points nearly half the length of her small finger and were painted a white that flashed in the room’s harsh light. When she slid her arms over Haruka’s shoulders, she couldn’t help but glance at them. “I wish we didn’t have to share.”

“But that was the condition of the assignment,” Kanako answered, her eyes sad.

“I know.” Haruka could hear the pout in her tone as Ikumi rested her head against hers, where she stayed for a moment until she kissed her cheek and pulled away. Haruka blushed. “One day we’ll have you all to ourselves. Until then, we’re all _yours.”_

Kanako winked, then let her go, following Ikumi. Shizuka lingered for a moment, the look on her face unreadable, until she lifted Haruka’s chin and brushed a thumb over her lips.

“Soon,” she said. She walked away.

× × × × ×

Some time later, Haruka walked out of the practice room to find Minami outside, talking with Ringo, who flagged her down.

“Haruka,” he acknowledged.

She nodded. “Yes?”

“Lovely, I need you to make me a list of things you need from your house. I’m going to send Michiko—I’m sure you noticed, but we weren’t able to get everything you needed the first time.”

“Are we—”

Ringo nodded. “With the concert only one month away, we thought it best that you all stay here and practice together. You have the whole grounds.”

“But—”

Minami wrote something on a notepad, then handed her the beginnings of a list as well as a pen. Before Haruka could protest, she shook her head. “I went ahead and cleared your schedule at Divine. Ringo is doing the same for Shining. And HEAVENS is already here. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll do the same.”

“Focus on this. It’s up to you, now,” Ringo added.

There was nothing she could say. After a moment, she nodded. “I…will do my best.” She looked up at Minami, biting her lip. “Can you bring my cat?”

Minami laughed a little, smiling. “Anything for you.”

× × × × ×

Later that evening, Haruka retreated to her room. The practice session—if it could respectfully be called that—had lasted well into dinner hours, quibbling over every little thing from seating arrangements to practice pieces slowing progress at every step. Haruka had witnessed the end of it, having left after figuring out assignments to try her hand at the first composition they would play for her. That had been equally disastrous, and they’d broken for the day with no understanding but a general agreement that Haruka should select their practice pieces, otherwise they would never agree. 

And then dinner had come, and disagreements over music were replaced by disagreements over who could access the kitchen, when, where everyone would be staying, which areas of the house were to be considered private to the members of certain bands or agencies. Haruka had simply left. Only Tomo had acknowledged her, helping secure her getaway by assuaging a ravenous Ikumi and Kanako that though the suite closest to Haruka was taken by STARISH, the suite she herself was in was just down the hall, and there was more than enough room for them there.

In her room, Haruka sighed against the door once she’d closed it, resting her head against it. After a few breaths, she stepped away. She was rolling out her neck when she caught sight of the still-open suitcase next to her bed. The white robe Minami had left for her was spilling out of it. She pulled it out, along with the bath salts.

As she made her way to the bathhouse, she prayed that none of the others had the same idea, or even knew where it was. And when she arrived to find it empty, she could have melted with relief. Releasing the salts in one of the smaller pools on the women’s side, she tied up her hair and stripped down, not even bothering to use the changing room. She slipped into the water. Her senses filled with the scent of lavender, and she closed her eyes.

She counted her breaths. All she could hear was the sound of running water, the faint lapping of waves against the sides of the bath. Then she allowed even that to fall away, until she was left with nothing but the darkness behind her eyes, the soothing smell of the salts, and the river of her feelings that ran beneath her, dark and mysterious, but no longer fearful.

She tested it, searching. All her career—all her life—she’d been focused on the happiness of others, her one desire to achieve her dream of composing music for HAYATO. But she’d outgrown that dream long ago. What had taken its place? Had anything at all?

The realization came to her slowly. But when it did, it was as though a great, grey gap had opened up inside her, and she was standing on the edge of a cliff at one side of it, watching the other side get further and further away. 

She was a small piece in a very large machine—a good one, an important one, but that was all she knew. What soul she lacked, she borrowed from others. In her music, she transformed herself into them, subsuming herself in her own creations out of service. But with no one else to disappear into, she was left alone. There was a dark pool of feelings she didn’t understand, and there was the memory of sound. In her fingers she felt electrical sparks—the antsiness of a dancer who has not yet learned her routine.

She opened her eyes, and the feeling of the great chasm inside her began to seal over. She felt it inside her, but it didn’t hold her. For several minutes, she focused again on her breathing, counting the length of each inhale and exhale until her head began to swim with the heat of the water and she extracted herself, reaching for the robe and burying herself in it. It was new, soft as Momo’s fur, and smelled of lavender.

× × × × ×

The walk back to her room was equally uneventful, owing mostly to the fact that the bathhouse was in a secluded corner of the manor far from any bedrooms. She did have to pass through the wing HEAVENS was occupying to reach her room. But it was empty except for Kira, who didn’t acknowledge her with anything beyond a single nod.

In her room, she found the door slightly ajar. She walked in to find Ren sitting at her drawing table with a plate of food, his back to her.

“My Lady, I—” He turned to her, then immediately turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Stay,” she said, smiling even though he didn’t see it. She made her way over to the bags, quickly rooting through until she found a complete set of comfortable clothes. “Just let me change.”

“Of course.” 

She turned and stood in time to see part of a nod, making her way to the bathroom and smiling over her shoulder. She closed the door, changing quickly. When she emerged, he turned to her and stood, making his way over.

“You brought me food,” she said. 

She hadn’t realized it yet, but when he’d stood, she’d stopped in the middle of the room. He swept his hand through the ends of her hair. “I may also have just wanted to see you,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “I’ve been worried about you all day.”

She blushed, biting her lip, and looked down. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

A hand on the back of her head caused her to look up again. “No. You’re very important to me. Of course I’m concerned.” He let her go, making his way over to the piano bench that he’d already moved over to the writing table. After a moment, she followed, taking the chair he’d vacated. “I had some time this afternoon to work on our piece.”

Her blush returned. She hadn’t thought of it as _theirs_ before. The composition was already out on the table, and he slid it toward her.

She was surprised at what she saw. It was written in a minor key, F#—when she’d first read it, it had brought to mind waiting for someone on a dark street in the middle of the city, a sort of expectation, wistfulness, but never sadness. It was all different now. She read it over again, flying over the keys in her mind, surprised at the urgency she felt. She turned to him. 

“Is this what you feel?”

He hadn’t faced away from her once while she read. “Is it what you feel?”

She couldn’t hold his gaze. She lifted the paper, glanced at it, then turned to the window. Several long moments passed. 

“I don’t know what I feel.”

He stood up, taking the bench with him and walking it over to the upright piano in the corner of her room. He sat down on one end of it. “How would I play this, if this were what I feel?”

She stood up, an arm crossed over herself, and made her way over. She sat down. She didn’t touch the keys, just stared forward for a minute until she turned to him.

“Jinguji-san—”

“Ren. We’ve talked about this,” he said, smiling. He ran a hand through her hair again. “You’ve composed for me dozens of times, My Lady. This is no different.”

He lowered his hand, and she nodded. While she took a moment to center herself, she heard him place the music on the stand, situating the worn paper so it wouldn’t fall down. She opened her eyes, rested her fingers on the keys. She breathed again.

It came easily, just like he said it would. The piece was familiar enough by now that she didn’t have to look at it while she played. To fill the unwritten spaces, she dipped her fingers into the familiar well that allowed her to translate another person’s feelings into sound. Some of them ran many notes longer than the measures surrounding them. Was it fear? No, not exactly. She remembered the duet project, how he’d stood between her and Kiryuin Van when he had crossed a line. It was the fear of someone who protects, and fears losing—

“Good,” he said. She jumped, pulling a hand to her heart reflexively before she relaxed. “Now, how would you play it for yourself?”

She closed her eyes. Instantly, the spaces between the written measures fell empty again, and all that was left were incomplete lines, like a call transmitted over a bad signal. It didn’t make sense. The well was gone. Not only that, it didn’t exist.

“I don’t know,” she said after a long moment.

“Yes you do.” She looked at him, puzzled. “This morning, I watched you write like this. It’s the same.” He rested a hand on her back, leaning into her field of vision. “You aren’t going to scare me away.”

She nodded. She positioned her hands.

“I can’t,” she said.

He stood, then, and walked behind her. He laid his hands over her eyes, his fingers cool on her face. She felt the slight pressure of his thumbs behind her ears.

“Don’t think about anything else,” he said. 

She took a breath. The fear of her fear was an emotion. She latched onto it, and followed.

It was slow at first. She remembered her childhood in the countryside—a summer day when she’d been outside in the tall flowers and had seen the looming, dark line of a storm getting closer. The thunder rumbled and she was an adolescent, her frequent illnesses preventing her from having a normal childhood. Fear of being left behind. She was a student, and STARISH was taken out of her hands. She was a professional, her reputation being tied to the success of every piece, no matter how small. The images came with every measure, out of time, until there were no more of them, and all she had was her ultimate fear—

She registered the loss of Ren’s touch on her face, how they’d moved to his hands, one below her chin, between her shoulders, as he held her, tears streaming down her face. She turned to him, standing—

“I’m so sorry—”

But before he could reply, or reach for her, the door opened.

 _“Haruka-chaaan!_ Lovely, I have someone to cheer you up— _What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”_

“Momo-chan!”

The cat Ikumi was carrying squirmed out of her arms and darted away from the source of the loud voice. Ikumi stormed into the room, practically crackling with fury. But before Haruka could reach her cat, Ikumi had hung herself on her, wedging herself between her and Ren and taking her face in her hands. She wiped her tears on her sleeve, staring her in the eyes for a moment before she whirled around.

 _“You._ How _dare_ you make her cry.”

Ren took a step back, eyes narrowing. “I would never—”

“—as if this _unbelievable_ burden wasn’t _enough_ for her—”

Haruka reached out a hand, touching Ikumi’s shoulder. Ikumi reeled back around in a swirl of silver and gold, launching herself at Haruka, who stumbled back. She hugged Haruka to her, burying her hand in her hair. After a moment, she began to run her long fingernails through it. “Let _me_ take care of you. Only a woman knows another woman’s needs.”

“It’s okay, Ikumi-chan. That’s not why I was crying.”

Ikumi frowned. “Well, I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

Ren didn’t back down. “We were composing.” 

The hand in Haruka’s hair moved to her wrist, and Ikumi began dragging her toward the door. “Compose with _me,_ Haruka-chan—”

Haruka extracted her wrist, drawing her hands to her chest. She took a step back, putting equal distance between both of them.

“Ikumi-chan,” Haruka wiped away some of the tears Ikumi had missed, and looked at her, her voice soft. “Thank you very much for bringing Momo-chan to me. I want to continue composing.”

Ren turned to her, not entirely able to keep the surprise off his face.

“My Lady…”

Ikumi whirled around again. “I told you, she’s _no one’s_ Lady but her own—”

“—How is that any different to you calling her Lovely?”

“She _is_ lovely, a precious beautiful flower—”

“Ikumi-chan, it’s just a nickname.” 

She pouted. “Haru _ka._ I don’t like the thought of you belonging to anyone else.”

Haruka smiled. “It’s like you said, Ikumi-chan. I’m no one’s but my own. But I want to keep composing.”

Ikumi’s pout intensified. 

“She’s said what she wants,” Ren challenged.

It was obvious to Haruka that she didn’t want to, but Ikumi closed her eyes, relenting. “ _Fine._ But if I catch even a _whiff_ of her tears—”

“It’s okay, Ikumi-chan.”

“Well then.” She walked up to Haruka, kissing her cheek, then taking one of her hands in both of hers. She met Haruka’s eyes, her voice lowered. “I cannot deny you. Goodnight, Lovely. Just know that all I wish for is your happiness.”

She sauntered out of the room, closing the door behind her. Haruka let out a sigh.

Ren walked up to her, something cautious in his steps, like a wolf approaching prey. He brushed her hair back from her face, stroking under her eye. For a long moment, he just looked at her. “She may be right, My Lady.”

Her stomach dropped. “Ren, I—”

He reached for her, holding her to him. Her head was against his chest. She felt his words on her cheek.

“I pushed you too far.”

She uncurled her fingers against his chest. His grip on her tightened for a moment. “No,” she said. She looked up at him, craning her neck, and stepped back. “I want to do it again.”

× × × × ×

He stayed with her late into the night. Later than he probably should have. After their first run, he’d sat down with her again at her writing table, convincing her to take a break. There, they’d expanded on the piece she’d written earlier that day. Mostly it was him watching her write. But there were times when she’d gotten stuck, and he’d walked her through the block, helping her unpack it until it was no longer in her way. 

It was entrancing when she was free. There was nothing else in the world when she was composing. Her world narrowed to the page in front of her. It was like watching someone through a screen—sometimes she would disappear into herself for minutes at a time, listening for something he couldn’t hear. He felt like he was eavesdropping on her most private thoughts, even though that didn’t make sense—not when those were the very things she shared with the world again and again.

They did not return to the piano. He could tell she wanted to. But it was too late, and her room was not soundproofed, so instead she tapped out melodies on the table when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her eyes would drift closed. It took everything in him not to touch her. She had always been like this—always unguarded, almost innocently so. It was so unbelievably dangerous to leave her out in the world, even though he knew in his mind that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She had to be.

But he would always protect her. However he could.

When he returned to his room, the light was on. Masato was awake, seated at the low table he always carried with him, half-finished tea furnishings taking up a corner of it. He narrowed his eyes at Ren when he entered.

“You’re back late,” he said over his cup, then set it down. “Should I even ask?”

“I don’t follow.”

“There are all of these women here.”

Ren examined his face, narrowing his eyes at him. “That hasn’t been me in years. You should know that better than anyone.”

Masato’s look hardened. “I only ask because I prefer it to option B. Were you with her?”

So that’s what this was about. They’d never discussed it as a group, but it was obvious to most of them that most of the others had had feelings for Haruka at some point. Many of them still did. But it had never gone beyond that, not with Shining’s prohibitions on romantic involvement. It wasn’t worth it to justify himself, even though he had stayed at her request, and he would not have done so otherwise. “I was.” 

Somewhat to his surprise, Masato seemed to give. He finished his tea, then stood. Still, his tone was serious.

“You must understand that you cannot distract her.”

He granted Masato the grace of letting his frustration dissipate before he responded. There wasn’t anything he could say except, “I won’t.”


	5. A tempo

In the morning, she awoke at first light to the feeling of a weight on her stomach. In the half-light, she made out the small figure of Momo curled in a spiral, her breaths steady. Not wanting to wake her, Haruka smiled, reaching for her phone. But her cat stirred anyway, her small head popping up for a moment before she looked around, and Haruka abandoned the effort, replacing her phone on the nightstand and turning halfway onto her side.

It was enough movement that her companion stood, stretching herself out daintily before she slunk over to Haruka, pressing her nose to the arm propping up her face. Haruka giggled as Momo walked behind her, purring, pressing her head into her elbow and hair.

“Good morning, Momo-chan.”

Her cat leapt onto the floor, barely making a sound. Haruka turned, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed as she too stretched out, turning to face the window for a moment.

Her room was at the corner of the house, and because her windows faced north and east, two full angles of early sunlight were making their way into her room. She turned back. Momo was waiting for her expectantly, her tail twitching in the air. She bent down and stroked her head, reaching for her house shoes for a moment before thinking better of it. Two more trunks of her belongings had been brought to her room—in her own bags, she noted gratefully—and she found her sneakers in one of them, along with a cardigan she slid over her shoulders. After a moment, she also pulled a hat over her hair.

“Momo-chan!” As she opened the door, her cat slipped out into the hallway before she could stop her. Momo paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at Haruka before continuing on. Haruka sighed. She made her way to the kitchen, finding that although a pot of coffee had already been brewed, the room was empty. She rooted in the cabinets for a moment until she found a travel mug, which she filled, replacing the carafe again on her way out.

Momo was sitting at the sliding door in the sitting room, her tail bouncing. Haruka looked at her. “As long as you can find your way back,” she said softly, sliding the door open. Momo ambled outside, glancing at Haruka for a third time before she leapt onto the handrail and made her way. 

She wasn’t worried. For a cat, Momo was surprisingly loyal—she’d let her out dozens of times while visiting her grandmother, and she always made her way back. Sometimes Haruka wondered if it was hard for her to be inside all the time in her apartment. But she didn’t seem to mind.

Haruka stood in the doorway for a moment, her hands around her cup, and looked out over the lawn before sliding the door shut. She walked down the deck, onto grass which swished softly with dew with every step. The morning air was cool on her bare legs.

She made her way down, following the straight plane of grass that led to the lake further down the grounds. Every so often, she glanced behind her to make sure the house was still in sight. The grounds sloped gently. The house, still dark, was like a castle above them.

The lawn leveled out at a running path that made its way around the whole lake. In front of her was a bench. It was covered in dew, so she sat in a crouch, her coffee tucked into her lap.

She closed her eyes. It was brighter now. The color behind her lids was a red-orange. In an instant, she was surrounded by sound: small waves against the shoreline, birds, wind. In the distance, the rumble of a train. These were on the surface. She dove deeper. Lines of direction crossed over each other where the sources of sound moved. Several birds landed on the water. Her heart pulsed, a small drum.

Her fingers moved against the cup, the wind stirring the ends of her hair against her neck and collarbone. She smelled water and earth, and her coffee through the open slot on the lid.

She opened her eyes and took a drink, grimacing a bit. It was still too warm. She set the cup on the bench beside her, looking out at the lake over hands clasped behind her knees. After a moment, she withdrew a small pink notebook from her pocket along with the pencil she kept tucked into its spine.

She wrote a few lines. They came slowly, as though the music, too, were just waking up. But after a few moments, she was pulled out of her thoughts when she felt a presence by her side, and she turned around to see Tokiya, his forearms on the bench as he leaned over her.

“Still not sleeping?”

She shook her head. “Not very well.” 

He walked around the bench, and she set her notebook down, moving her coffee out of the way. “It’s wet,” she warned.

“It doesn’t matter.” He took a seat, facing out over the lake. Sure enough, he was dressed for a run, and there was a very faint line of sweat just under his hairline. As ever, he was a morning person, and she had a passing thought of how in the world he had managed so many late nights when living his double life as HAYATO. “What’s troubling you?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Not even the film score?”

She turned back to him, eyes wide. “You know about that?”

The smile he gave her told her she should know better. “I sing your songs for a living. I can recognize them anywhere.”

She blushed. She wasn’t used to being known. Somehow, the thought had never occurred to her. He moved, then, and when she looked up, he was facing her, his head propped in his hand.

“What is it that you want to see?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Surely there is something you want.”

She turned back out over the water, taking a slow sip of her coffee. That was the question, wasn’t it? What she wanted. What she felt. She remembered the feeling of Ren’s hands over her eyes, and a small blush came to her cheeks. He’d told her to find what she felt and let it out, write it into music.

That was what she wanted. She wanted to learn how.

When she didn’t answer for several moments, he turned forward again. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” he eventually said. 

Her heart picked up. Suddenly, she was very nervous.

“What is it?”

He exhaled, then faced her again. “When this is over, would you do a solo album with me?”

She relaxed somewhat. Music always made sense. Still, she bit her lip as new questions began to creep in. “Ichinose-san...am I even allowed to?”

“Things are changing. But I…” He stopped himself, closed his eyes, and let out a breath. Her brows crossed. “Don’t answer now. Just think about it.” 

She nodded. He stood, turning to go. 

“Ichinose-san.” He turned back to her. “What would you like to play? For the concert?”

He smiled. “Whatever you need. Once you know, then tell me.”

× × × × ×

The next time she walked into the larger practice room, what she found was quite different. The door had been left open, and she slipped inside, a folio of music in one hand, and looked at the scene in front of her. Chairs and stands had been laid out in a crescent facing away from the door, angled toward the gleaming black piano that had been moved to one corner of the room. Most of their backs were to her, but she could see from there that they’d arranged themselves by instrument—Ayumi and Masato were at the front of the circle and seemed to be directing the arrangements.

“Haruka,” she heard someone say. Most of the heads in the room turned her way, and she smiled, blushing a little.

“Everyone,” she said. Taking the folio in both hands, she made her way down the aisle they’d left through the center, looking to her right and her left. When she reached where Masato and Ayumi were standing, Masato bowed and made his way to the back.

She turned to Ayumi, touching her wrist. “Um…Ayumi-chan, please don’t sit down just yet. I’ve never conducted before.”

Ayumi smiled. In addition to being a member, Ayumi was also the only member of CADENZA who had studied composition as well as performance, and she acted as their _de facto_ musical director.

“You’ll get it,” Ayumi replied, her voice low. “The thing to remember is not to overthink. It’s easy to get tripped up if you focus too much on one instrument, so just listen to your instincts.”

Haruka nodded.

“Everyone,” she said. She tried to project her voice, but it still came out quiet. Nevertheless, when those in the front cut off their conversations and turned toward her, the message quickly spread. “I know from talking with all of you yesterday that most of you have had classical training. I want to start out today with Borodin’s second symphony in B minor. I have music here for everyone.”

Haruka handed Ayumi the folder. Inside was a stack of manila envelopes, one for each instrument, their tags clearly labelled. Ayumi began passing them out, and Haruka watched over the quiet room as everyone pulled out the music assigned to them.

“There’s no piano in that,” Nagi piped up over the crowd.

Haruka looked at him. He was no longer the wily thirteen-year-old she’d met all those years ago, but his essential character, though more mature, hadn’t changed. But she was feeling more confident, now, and raised herself up a little when she answered.

“I know. Today, I just need to get a feel for how you all sound together.” 

She surveyed the room again. Rather than an instrument she didn’t recognize, she saw Cecil tuning a piccolo. She bit the inside of her cheek, her confidence momentarily ebbing. That was already one mistake. She glanced at Ayumi, who had made her way to the back and was handing the final folders to Tomo and Masato, who looked somewhat surprised to be receiving them. She’d talk with them later.

“Cecil-san, I don’t have music for you,” she said, her tone apologetic as she walked up to him. “I didn’t know you played the piccolo.”

He smiled at her in that innocent way of his. “That’s okay, Haruka-chan. I’ve heard this piece. The muses will help us.”

“I’m…glad.” Her smile was genuine, if a little wary. “Today, I need all the help I can get.”

He reached for her hand, raising it to his lips. “Always, _My Princess_.”

Ikumi, who was one seat removed, leaned over CADENZA’s Tagami Shiori and shot a glare at Cecil. Shiori straightened into the back of her chair. But before Ikumi could say anything, Haruka smiled at her very intentionally, and Ikumi sat back, her pout defensive.

“Let’s work together, Ikumi-chan,” Haruka said. Then she made her way around the back of the arc, stopping beside Tomo and Masato, as well as Otoya, who featured in her modification as well. To his right, she saw that Ranmaru had brought an electric bass—one thing that had gone right.

“I’ve made some modifications to the piece so that you can all play. Have you all heard this piece before?”

“I know it,” Masato answered. 

Otoya was nodding behind him. “Me too.” 

Haruka smiled. “I think you should look through these before we get started. It’s…kind of hard to explain how you guys fit in.”

Tomo was a step ahead of her. “You want me with the woodwinds?” 

Haruka nodded. “I thought it made the most sense.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of it, but you’re right,” Tomo answered.

“Nanami-san,” Otoya said from behind her. She turned halfway around. “This is amazing. How do you do it?”

“Nanami,” Masato echoed. He closed the papers, setting them on his stand.

“I trust you, Hijirikawa-san,” she said. “I trust all of you. I know it’s a strange arrangement.”

“It’s amazing,” Otoya said again.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Ranmaru echoed. He looked up at her, grinning. “This should be good.”

It wasn’t good. Not at first. As though they could all feel her awkwardness at the stand, the woodwinds all came in separately, missing each other over the first cello lines enough that Haruka became confused. She looked at Ayumi, who shook her head.

“Let’s try again,” she said.

She raised her arms, looking first at the cellos—Murakami Umeka and Sonoda Rika from CADENZA, along with Camus, who closed his eyes—she brushed aside her twinge of annoyance after she waved her hand, drawing it out in a line, and he came in perfectly. She smiled, then, tapping out her foot, and released a hand over the woodwinds. That time, they all came in together, and she saw a few of them smile a bit around their mouthpieces.

It took a few more tries before everyone came in together. Once, she heard some of the brass getting louder than they should, and looked over to see Kanako and Hyuga Yamato from HEAVENS in a sort of duel, Yamato halfway out of his seat. At that point—now several runs deep, and feeling much more sure of herself—she’d cut them all off, and had directed a look his way until he and Kanako backed off. Some of the others sitting near both of them piped up as well. And they continued like that—whenever they weren’t playing, she saw them turn to each other, discussing logistics and transitions, correcting each other when needed. Eventually, they managed to get through the whole first movement. Haruka felt a swoop of victory.

CADENZA, who had the most experience, seemed to be the glue holding everyone together—that was, until the first run with Masato, at which point she’d heard several people stop playing, their expressions shocked.

“ _Nanami_ ,” she heard from the brass section, and looked over to see Ootori Eiji shaking his head in disbelief.

“My Lady,” Ren echoed.

Eiichi grinned at her. “You’re really something, aren’t you.”

She smiled, a bit sheepish. “Let’s try again,” she said. “This time from the beginning.”

× × × × ×

Later, in her practice room, Haruka sat down at the piano and immediately began playing. She played the first thing that came into her head, which happened to be the first measures of the third movement of Moonlight Sonata—she held her breath, her hands flying over the keys, until less than a minute later, she dropped midway into another piece in the same key—Lizst’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2—and lost herself in it, spiraling up and down until she changed again, slowing her pace into Chopin’s op. 27.

Her head rolled back, her face tipping up toward the ceiling as her eyes drifted closed. She connected dozens of pieces, stepping up and down out of keys, in and out of tempos and composers and moods. Eventually, the notes that came were her own. She emptied herself into them, measure after measure, knowing she would never play the same melodies again. She had to remember to breathe.

When she stopped, she was panting for breath, her heart racing. She looked down at the pedals. Some of her hair stuck to the back of her neck. She rested her elbows on the lip below the keys and lowered her face into her hands. 

After a moment, she sat back. She reached for the stack of blank sheet music someone had left for her on top of the piano and began to write.

She wrote and wrote. Some of the completed sheets made their way to a rough stack on top of the piano—still others slipped by her, to the bench, the floor, wherever they happened to land. She barely looked up. At some point, someone had come in and left a cup of tea by the stack—by the time she noticed it, it was long since cold.

She stopped. She set the pencil down over the last measure she’d completed, looking to either side of her as she stretched out her hand. Though there was no one else there, she blushed when she saw the papers all around her. She had no idea how long she’d been writing, but when she went to stand, her back protested and she had to sit back down. 

There was a knock at the door. Before she could answer, Tomo walked in.

“I see you’ve been busy,” she said, looking at the mess on the floor. 

Haruka blushed. She finished her stretch, then made room as Tomo came over to her so she could sit down. But Tomo stopped short, gathering up the papers that had fallen and handing them to Haruka before she did so. Haruka’s blush deepened. “Thank you, Tomo-chan.” She reached for the stack above her head, gathering the papers together. 

“I’m just glad to see you’re writing,” Tomo answered, leaning over the fallboard. 

“I’m glad to be writing,” she said. “I…was stuck, for a long time.”

“Not that anyone would ever know, with that miracle you pulled off today.”

She smiled, batting the idea away. “Oh, no, that was easy. That was just a modification. Not like real composing.”

“You know no one else here could do half of what you do.”

Haruka blushed again, unsure of what to say. There was a beat.

“Haruka.”

Tomo’s voice had changed. Haruka sat up straighter, smiling a bit. “Yes?”

“I’m asking this not in judgment, but concern. Is there anything going on between you and one of the boys? Or girls, for that matter?”

“T-Tomo-chan! N-no, why do you think there’s something going on?”

Tomo smiled a bit. “Because you’ve barely spoken to me.”

Haruka paled. Out of all the people in this house, Tomo was the one she saw the most, aside from Minami—the two former roommates always made sure to leave a lunch free every couple of weeks so they could meet up. But since they’d arrived at the house, even though it had only been a few days, she could count the number of interactions she’d had with her best friend on one hand.

“Tomo-chan…”

After a moment, Tomo laid a hand on hers. “Believe me. I know you have a lot on your mind. It isn’t just me, though.”

“Who else—”

“Otoya.”

Haruka blushed. Hard, in a way that went with her heart rate picking up and a sudden flash of heat whipping through her. “ _Tomo-chan!_ I would never—”

Tomo’s look cut her off. She puzzled at Haruka for a second, her brows crossed, before she turned partway to the side and began laughing outright. She kept laughing for a long minute, during which time Haruka only barely began to feel her blush fade.

“H-Haruka, no, that’s not what I meant at all—” Tomo wiped a tear from one eye. “No. I know you better than that. Besides, you know half the people in this house would throw themselves at you if you just waved a finger.”

Haruka’s blush returned. She didn’t want to think about that—in fact, over the years, she’d become so good at _not_ thinking about that that those thoughts had a box inside her mind where she put them all and never touched them. Never even thought about them.

“Otoya was suspicious of something. He thinks it’s Tokiya.”

“ _What?_ ” Haruka practically leapt of her seat, a hand flying to her chest. “No, it’s not—”

“Ah, so there is someone.” Tomo grinned. She sat back, examining her nails. “Like I said. I’m not judging you. Heck, if I weren’t already quite taken care of, I’d probably do the same. But Haruka,” her tone levelled out, suddenly much more serious. She paused, taking Haruka’s hand again. “Haru-chan, you know, if there is someone…the others will find out eventually.”

Haruka looked out over the room. She bit the inside of her cheek. After a moment, she nodded. 

“I know.”

“As long as you know what to do.” Tomo dropped her hand, leaning onto her knees into Haruka’s line of vision. “As long as it’s what you want. You know I’m here for you.”

“Tomo-chan,” she said.


	6. Piano forte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was late a couple of weeks ago, so here, I'm early this week.

Over the next several days, Haruka’s routine began to settle. In the morning, she would wake up around sunrise, make her coffee, and take a walk—sometimes to the lake, sometimes around the grounds, sometimes just around the house. On those walks, she would listen and observe. She tuned herself into the world, opening like a net to catch whatever came her way. It wasn’t as stimulating as Shibuya. That meant she had to pay more attention—she carried her notebook, but very rarely did she write in it.

After breakfast—which was usually just with STARISH, as they had quickly figured out that if they woke up before everyone else, they could have Haruka to themselves for a while—they had morning practice together. Haruka would bring music for them—at first, she had just conducted, observing the dynamics between them the way she would for any band she worked with. The day before, however, she’d asked Ayumi to conduct the first movement of Chopin’s no. 1 while she sat at the bench, and she’d listened, tentative, until the long rest. She’d walked slowly onto the first notes, and the room almost seemed to freeze.

For a few long minutes, it was just her, her eyes slipping closed as she let everything fall away from her consciousness except the notes in front of her, which she played from memory. Then Ayumi waved the strings in, and she opened herself back up—the line between herself and them had blurred.

They would break for lunch after morning practice, and Haruka would retreat to her practice room for most of the afternoon while the others continued to practice on their own. She left suggestion pieces for them, but she’d heard from the others that they were increasingly beginning to find their own. At least a couple of days a week, they didn’t hold afternoon practice. Instead she would hear dance music from somewhere else in the house, much of it hers, as they rehearsed as individual bands, and she would smile over her pages at the reminder of their lives outside the grounds.

Mostly, she wrote. First, it was just arrangements—she finished arranging the first piece they would perform within the first week—but more and more, what came out of her was her own. Like excavating an ancient ruin, or building a skyscraper, she worked continuously, methodically, but quickly—a careful log of the amount of time before the concert as well as the apportionments of time she would have each day to work helped her set her pace. She built the backbone first, drawing heavily on what she’d learned from watching morning practices. Then she wove in each instrument, the familiar piece stretching out like a tapestry in her mind, each instrument and player a different color.

The others quickly learned what STARISH and QUARTET NIGHT had known for years: that when Haruka was composing, she shouldn’t be disturbed. Each evening, she set aside time to eat dinner with everyone, rotating through the groups so that no one was left out. But on Monday of the second week—ten days since they’d arrived, with three weeks remaining until the concert—she’d looked up from her work one evening to find Minami closing the door behind her, a large box in tow.

“Minami-chan,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

While Ringo had remained on the grounds to keep an eye on things—though she hardly ever saw him, and when she did he was usually on the phone with someone—Ryuuya and Minami had left after the first weekend, and neither had been back since. 

“I came to check on you. How are things going?”

Haruka smiled, stretching out her shoulder. “Better, now. I’m still nervous. But I’m mostly nervous for myself.”

“I heard they were making progress. Ayumi has been keeping me updated.”

“All good things, I hope.” 

Minami smiled, setting the box down in the chair by the window. “That isn’t the only reason I’m here, though.” She came up to Haruka, touching her shoulder. When Haruka inclined her head, she elaborated. “I’m actually here to get you ready.”

“For what?”

“You’ve been invited to a gala this evening. To promote your concert.”

“…Oh.”

Minami nodded, raising her other hand to Haruka’s shoulders as she began to massage them, Haruka inadvertently relaxing into her touch. “Many of the others will be there as well.”

“Who?” 

She turned partway around, but Minami gently turned her head back forward, her hands moving higher onto Haruka’s neck. “Ikumi, Ayumi, and both Tomoka and Rika for us,” Minami began. Tomoka and Rika were sisters, so that made sense. “The Ootori brothers will be there for Raging. Sumeragi Kira, Hijirikawa Masato, and Jinguji Ren for each of their families, and Camus in his capacity as ambassador. Ichinose Tokiya, Shibuya Tomochika, and Ittoki Otoya for Shining.” When she was done, Minami smoothed her hands down Haruka’s shoulders and took a step back. “That’s all I was told about.”

Haruka nodded. “Do they already know?”

Minami smiled, a hand on her hip. “They were told last week. You’ll see them there. In fact, many of them have already left.”

Haruka jumped up. “Is it that late?”

Minami laughed a little. “That’s why I came. To help you get ready. We won’t have a repeat of last week.” She walked over to the chair where she’d set the box. “Have you showered today?”

Haruka blushed a little, but nodded. “This morning.”

“Good. That’s one less thing we have to do.” She picked up the box and made her way to the door. Glancing back at the piano, Haruka gathered up her papers and followed.

Minami, naturally, already knew where her room was, and Haruka bit her lip as they briskly made their way, figuring it was some kind of look on Minami’s face that kept anyone they passed from saying anything. When they reached her room, Minami held the door open for her, closing it behind her before she made her way to the bed, setting the box on it. Haruka watched as she carefully removed the lid and wrappings. She pulled out a black slip, which she handed to Haruka. “Go put this on. I’ll get everything else ready.”

Haruka nodded. She took the hanger Minami offered her and made her way to the bathroom, closing the door enough that she had privacy but could still hear the sounds of whatever Minami was doing. She heard more bags unzipping, along with the sounds of hard objects being set on a table. Then she undressed and put on the slip, folding her clothes on the counter.

When she walked out again, Minami was moving her piano bench over to the vanity, now completely covered in products. Minami gestured at the bench, and Haruka sat down. For about twenty minutes, she watched Minami’s face in the mirror as she frowned over Haruka’s hair, straightening, brushing, and pinning in a way that made no sense to her until she smiled and handed Haruka a hand mirror.

“Have a look,” she said. There was a trace of pride in her voice. And when she stood and turned around, holding the mirror over one shoulder, she could see why. Minami was a magician—her hair was barely past her collarbone, but Minami had folded it into an intricate knot that looked like it belonged on a princess.

“Minami-chan…” she said.

“Don’t touch it. It needs to set.” She laid a gentle hand on Haruka’s shoulder. Haruka handed her the mirror, then sat back down.

Compared to her hair, her makeup didn’t take very long at all. She sat very still, following Minami’s prompts, trying not to sneeze when the uncapped powder wafted into her nose. 

“There,” Minami said after a few minutes. She stepped back, admiring her handiwork for a moment before letting Haruka stand.

This wasn’t the first gala Haruka had been to. It probably wasn’t even the fanciest. But it had been some time she’d seen herself look like this. Out of habit, she raised her knuckle to her lips before she remembered the pale lipstick Minami had just applied, stopping herself short. 

Minami’s back was to her, allowing Haruka a full view of the voluminous braid she’d tied her own hair into, the folds of which were wrapped around what looked like silver laurel that fell over one shoulder in a long coil. She was standing over the box again, peeling back the tissue. She held the dress up to the light.

The dress, what she could see of it, was strapless, a black column woven all over with golden reeds and grasses, almost in the style of an old imperial mural, flowing out into sweeping, moving layers. If there had been a breeze, she could almost have seen them stirring in it. A matching cape flowed behind the dress, separated by two hidden fasteners under the bust. Minami handed it to her. 

She was surprised at the weight of it. She ran her fingers over the embroidery. Much of it gleamed with tiny beads.

“Minami-chan…”

“It’s from Sayoko,” she said. Haruka turned to her. Okada Sayoko was the director of Divine Agency. In addition to being a world-renowned composer, she was also Kanako’s mother, and an accomplished concert pianist. 

“Oh,” Haruka said.

“She’s sorry she’ll miss you tonight.” Minami removed a second dress from the box, this one a silver so pale it was almost white. She set it on the bed. “Get dressed, Lovely. We have a party to attend.”

× × × × ×

Haruka wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a helicopter waiting for them outside. This time, she stepped into the craft willingly, if somewhat warily, holding the cape of her dress closed in front of her so it wouldn’t get swept up in the wind. Unlike the last one, this craft had full seats—when she’d strapped herself in, she looked back through the door to find several people waving at them from the sitting room window, among them Emiko, Syo, and Natsuki.

She waved back, smiling broadly. Then the door had slammed closed, and her stomach swooped as they lifted into the air.

The helicopter took them back toward the city. Before long, she watched out the window as Tokyo’s sea of lights spread out before them, and she lost all sense of where they were. They landed on a helicopter pad at the back of a large estate, where they waited for a moment before they transferred into a plush white car that was so square it resembled a purse. She caught the driver’s eye in the mirror and was only momentarily surprised to find that it was Michiko. She’d probably flown the helicopter as well.

The short ride passed in silence. When Michiko pulled up to the house, Minami opened the door for Haruka, then followed her out—on her way, Haruka saw her pause, her hand sliding into the former bodyguard’s short black hair. 

“Don’t stay out too late.” She heard Michiko’s deep voice half-warn Minami, her eyes grinning.

Minami winked. “We won’t.” Then she drew Michiko’s face to hers and kissed her, and Haruka turned away, blushing.

“You’re next, Lovely,” Minami breezed, ambling up the steps behind her. This made Haruka blush even more, and she was suddenly very grateful for her makeup.

At the top, Minami announced the pair of them to the doorman and led Haruka inside, a hand on her shoulderblade, until she paused a moment in front of a second attendant and slipped her shawl off her shoulders, handing it to her before moving on. Haruka considered for a moment, peering in through the entryway to see if she could see anyone she knew. But it was a warm night. She unfastened the cape and handed it to the attendant, then followed Minami. 

They were nearly the last to arrive. Haruka looked around, grateful for Minami’s presence beside her—it may not have been her first gala, but these sorts of things always made her uncomfortable. When a third attendant came by with a tray of chilled wine, she gratefully took a glass.

The room skewed older than them. As she surveyed around, she saw that most of those present were at least twice her age, and she recognized many of them from previous events and collaborations. It didn’t take long for them to be seen—a dark-skinned man with a ponytail made his way over to them, an arm outstretched, which he wrapped around Minami, kissing her cheek. 

_“Ma bella,”_ he said to her. Minami returned both gestures, careful not to spill her drink. “You are a vision.”

“Bellagio, it’s so good to see you,” she said in perfect English. “This is Nanami Haruka, the one I was telling you about.” To Haruka, she said in Japanese, “He’s a very famous producer in Europe. We worked together many times before I came to Divine.”

Haruka curtseyed, bowing her head before she answered in much less perfect English, “Pleased to meet you.”

“You are the one who will change the world with your music,” he said. It wasn’t quite a question. It took considerable effort to decipher his accented English, and by the time she had, she felt an arm slide around her waist.

“She already has,” Ren answered Bellagio in Italian, who took her hand and kissed it before taking Ren’s in both hands.

“My boy,” he said in English, grinning widely, meeting Haruka’s eyes while he answered Ren. “If you say so, then I have no doubt.”

A beautiful woman in red was walking up to them, and Bellagio turned to her. 

“My Lady,” Ren said to Haruka, his voice low in her ear. “You look stunning.”

“What’s this?” Haruka’s stomach swooped. He released her as the woman in red walked up to them, and he kissed her once on each cheek before she made her way to Haruka, doing the same to her. “Francesca Cassano. _Amore_ , this pretty thing is your _musa?_ ”

“The most promising young composer in Japan,” Minami answered.

“ _Wonderful._ You come to Italy and write for me.”

“She’s an opera singer,” Ren explained to Haruka. “A very good one.”

“ _English, Amore._ I don’t understand you.”

Ren let out a laugh. When he turned to them for a moment, lapsing into Italian, Minami looped her arm through Haruka’s, leading her toward an unfamiliar older man and his wife. But they, mercifully, were Japanese, and he introduced themselves as Hanada Kazuo and Hiroko.

“Of Hanada Corporation,” Haruka guessed. Kazuo smiled a bit, nodding once.

“And long-time patrons of the arts.”

They continued like that for a long time. Eventually, when Minami found herself in deep conversation with the president of the Nagoya Philharmonic, Haruka excused herself. Their orchestra, she’d learned, was providing the night’s music, and she made her way over to where they were playing.

For several minutes, she just listened, depositing her empty glass on a tray when an attendant walked by, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment’s immersion in the final movement of Brahm’s op. 67 until she felt a presence at her side.

“I never understood Brahms when I was young,” Masato said to her. “The vitality and life. It always seemed like something I was missing.”

“You aren’t missing it now, Hijirikawa-san.”

He looked at her, and something flared in his eyes. “On the next song, dance with me.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

They listened to the final measures in silence, and when it was over, Masato set his unfinished drink on a table and took her hand, raising it to his lips as the opening measures of The Second Waltz by Shostakovich sounded over them. Her blush was faint, but he noticed, and smiled.

As they danced, she studied him. She wasn’t sure when he’d changed his hair, but it suited his new self—it was shorter now, messier, the long fringe that normally fell over his eye pinned back to the side. The demure executive’s son she’d met in school was long gone. Still, his essential character was the same—his hand didn’t leave her waist until he spun her, keeping perfect steps.

For what felt like a long time, neither of them said anything. From time to time, she felt and occasionally noticed the same look he’d given her when he asked her to dance.

“Hijirikawa-san, I’m relying on you a lot for my final arrangements,” she said after several minutes.

“I’m honored by your confidence in me.”

“You always raise yourself to your fullest potential. I can always count on you.”

The song ended, and to her surprise, he drew her closer to him, kissing her forehead. 

“I will endeavor to be worthy of it,” he said, stepping back. “You’ve helped make me who I am.”

It almost sounded like a goodbye. She blushed again, and it deepened by a fraction when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Eiichi standing over her, his hand on her back.

“I _insist_ on the next dance,” he said. Masato looked at her, bowed, and stepped back, letting Eiichi take his place. He took her hand, drawing it closer to his chest when she extended it out. His grip on her back tightened a fraction. “Stay close to me.”

The music began again, this time faster. He held her close for the first few passes, their bodies almost touching, until he swung her out into an intricate spin, drawing her back with both arms.

“Very good.”

“I took lessons,” she said on the next pass.

“You mean, you had another teacher.” He looked down at her, then passed into an outside turn as they rounded a corner. “Not like me I hope.”

She blushed, remembering, and felt heat run down her body despite the movement. “No. Just dance.”

“Was he any good?”

“Ah, she.” Her blush deepened. He raised a brow. “It was Minami. That’s how we met.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She looked up at him. “Yes, Eiichi. She’s very good.”

His look turned into a grin, and he spun her again. “I love it when you say my name. I always have.” 

He moved them through several more passes, including an intricate step sequence for which he had to steer them around another couple. She met every move. When he drew her to him again, their chests did touch. She felt his breath next to her ear.

“If she knows you’re up for the taking, surely she knows we want you for ourselves.”

She frowned. Up for the taking? But she had only as much time for the thought to pass through her mind before led her into the final pass, a spin into a step sequence that ended with his hands on her back and shoulder as he dipped her low. His eyes bored into hers as he raised her up again. 

“Let me know if you want to resume our lessons.”

He let her go, and she didn’t imagine the grin that he directed over her shoulder. But for a moment, she stood where she was, her hand halfway to her lips, before she turned to see not Minami but Ren look her way, the look in his eyes almost dangerous.

It took her a moment to remember where she’d seen that look before. But it had been during the duet project, when Van had made a move on her. She glanced around the room, making sure no one was approaching her before she followed him onto a balcony. His back was to her as he leaned out over the wide railing. She stepped up behind him.

“Have you made your decision?” When Haruka didn’t respond for several moments, he turned around. He must have seen her confusion, because he continued. “I saw the letter. From Minami, about renegotiating your contract.”

She bit her lip, searching for what to say. “Oh,” she managed, glancing away for a moment before she looked back. 

“When I saw you with Ootori, I—” He cut himself off, then, looking unsure for a moment before he took a step toward her, then another. And then he was right in front of her. His hand ran along her jawline before slipping into her hair. He reached around her back, drawing her to him. “I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

She blushed, hard, standing very still, grateful for the darkness outside. Her heart raced. But then, he stepped back, searching her face. What he would find there, even she didn’t know.

“I’ve overstepped. I apologize.” He took hold of her wrists, his grip gentle. “For that, and for reading your letter. It isn’t my place to stop you.”

She was about to speak when heard a voice over the microphone and cut herself off. He glanced over her shoulder, still holding her wrists for a moment before letting them go. 

_“—Japan’s most promising young composer—”_

“We can talk more later. They’re about to announce you.”

She nodded, looking at him.

_“—known for the award-winning music behind Tempora, the composer for HEAVENS, HONEY BIRD, CADENZA, QUARTET NIGHT—”_

“I love everyone so much. But my heart is with STARISH. I always want to compose for you.”

His face changed, something like pain crashing over his features. But she didn’t have time to ask.

“Come to my room tonight,” she said, smiling a bit.

She went inside.

“Haruka—”

_“—and the former composer for STARISH—”_

_What a strange thing to say,_ she thought, smiling broadly as she walked toward the announcer’s podium, where an unfamiliar woman was speaking into the microphone. She paused nearby, her hands clasped in front of her while she waited to find out if she would be asked to speak. She heard Ren come in behind her.

She met Minami’s eyes in the crowd. Somewhere beside her, she saw Eiichi smirk. Masato was looking past her—at Ren, she realized when she followed his gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ren shake his head.

She froze. Great metal hands clapped up out of the floor, slamming shut around her. She felt cold. The whole room seemed to turn. But it was just the applause of the crowd—from some corner of her mind, she knew she should listen, make sure that she didn’t have to speak. But the announcer continued, silencing the applause. Something about a fundraiser they were having for her concert—

_Former_

The word echoed in her mind. It grew louder with every passing second, drowning out the room, and it was only with great effort that she stayed rooted where she was, waiting for the speaker to finish. When she did, there was another round of applause. The speaker was extending her hand, clearly motioning for her to join her on stage. 

Haruka obeyed the cue. The applause continued. She looked at the trim of her dress swirling around her feet, careful not to step on it as she ascended the stairs, her fingertips barely brushing the handrail. When she tilted the microphone down so she could speak, the room tipped with it. She swayed. 

Her voice raked against her throat. She tasted copper. She didn’t know whether the sounds that were coming out of her mouth were actually words. They were heavy and wrong, like marbles in her mouth.

After a few moments, she bowed. The audience seemed as though it expected her to say more. Her vision swam. She smiled weakly, hoping that all these people who had gathered to see her would understand. She stood up again and turned off the stage.

She began making her way to the door on autopilot, doing her best to smile and say a word to the patrons who stopped her along the way. By the time she reached the buffet tables, her hands were shaking.

She walked out of the ballroom. The cool of the foyer was like a slap. She heard her name.

_“Haruka!”_

She turned. Ren and Masato were running toward her. But before they could reach her, she fainted.

× × × × ×

When she came to, she was halfway in Ren’s lap. Her back was resting against his knee, and he held her to him with an arm around her side.

“She’s awake,” alerted a voice. Masato. He was crouched beside her, facing away.

She looked up. When she tried to sit up, Ren’s arm tightened around her.

“Slowly,” he said. “Let me help.”

She nodded. He helped her stand, his hand never leaving her side. She looked around. Minami, Tokiya, and the Sonoda sisters were doing damage control, talking with patrons who had seen her collapse from inside, keeping them from approaching her. A few still looked her way in concern, and she heard Tokiya explain that Haruka had suffered fainting spells since childhood, and there was nothing to be troubled over.

Masato stood, making his way to the front of the building. After a moment, Minami followed, stopping by Haruka on her way.

“I’m calling Michiko. We’re taking you home.”

Haruka’s eyes widened, and she lurched forward, trying to stop her. Ren held her arm.

“Lady.”

He was right. Her head swam with the sudden movement, and she swayed a bit. 

Minami stepped up to her, holding her shoulders. “This isn’t worth the cost of your health, Haruka. You can’t continue to push like this.”

She felt tears. “Minami-chan, please don’t make me give this up. I can’t…” There was a tearing pain in her chest as the full reality of what was happening hit her, and she turned to Ren, her tears coming freely now. “Is it true? STARISH disbanded?”

He closed his eyes. She looked at Masato, who let out a breath.

“We were going to tell you after the concert. We have one final performance next month. And then, yes, that’s it.”

There was a commotion at the door. 

“Haruka,” said Tomo’s voice. She turned and saw her and Otoya storming to her, their hands linked until Tomo reached her and pulled her out of Ren and Minami’s arms, sweeping her in a hug.

“You found out,” Otoya said, running a hand through his hair.

“Is that why you fainted?” Tomo asked her.

“Tomo-chan…” She wiped away tears. Ren shot a look at Minami. 

“She needs to finish this. Take her back to the resort.”

“Not if this is going to continue,” Minami retorted. “I don’t care what Shining says. This is unacceptable.”

“It’s what she wants.” 

Minami looked at Haruka, who nodded. “I want to do this.” Tomo released her, and she turned partway toward Minami. “I want to do my best. For all of you. I can’t…if I stop now, then I…”

Minami let out a long breath, closing her eyes. “One of you needs to watch over her at all times. Check in with her while she’s writing. Even stay in there with her, if she will allow it.”

“I would like that,” Haruka said, smiling. After a moment, though, she paused, raising a hand to her lips. “But not if it takes you from your practice…”

Otoya beamed at her over Tomo’s shoulder. “You’ve heard us in practice, Nanami. We’re better every day.”

“Thanks to you,” Tokiya said. The crowd had dissipated from the door and he was walking toward them. “I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t there.”

“He’s been practicing every instrument he knows,” Tomo said, and Haruka turned to her again before glancing at Tokiya, who nodded.

“Awaiting further instruction.”

“Ichinose-san…” She looked around the room. “Everyone…let’s do our best.”

There were smiles and nods around the room. Masato handed her the cape that went with her dress, then looked away as she fastened it on.

“Goodnight everyone,” she said, smiling a bit. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’d better be,” said CADENZA’s Sonoda Tomoka.

Rika looked at her sister, smiling. “Maybe don’t tell Ikumi right away.”

Minami breathed a laugh. “That would be wise.”

Haruka saw a car pull up outside. She let Minami lead her away.

× × × × ×

Some time later, Ren came to her room. She heard his voice behind her door—she was in the habit of keeping it partially open, now—and looked up to see his silhouette in the dim light.

“My Lady,” he said.

She let him in, and they stood there for a moment in silence, neither knowing what to do, before she turned and made her way back to her writing desk. He followed her, taking a seat on the bench.

“Is that for the concert?”

She slid the paper over to him. “This is our piece. I copied it down.”

He bent over it, studying. “You’ve added to it.”

“I needed to think about something else.” 

She was quiet for a moment as he read, and she massaged her temple, watching him. When he looked up again, she met his eyes.

“Why now?”

“Because we have nothing left to accomplish.” He slid the paper over to her, and she rested her fingers on it. He’d been expecting that question. “It was time. We've all been feeling pressure from our other work, and we all agreed that we wanted to end on a good note. So many bands have a decline before they end. We wanted to go out on our terms.”

It made sense. In her mind, she knew that. In a deeper place in her mind, she also knew that was what she wanted for them—they had been formed against their will, but had taken that and made it absolutely their own. It only seemed fair, she thought, for them to be the ones to end it.

“I wish someone had told me.” She wasn’t looking at him, and felt the sting of tears as she spoke. “I feel like something has been taken from me. I'm angry, Ren.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face soften. Unexpectedly, this made her even more frustrated—she wanted him to react, to defend himself, anything that would justify the anger welling up inside her. He did none of those things.

“It's strange to say this, but I'm glad. I can hear it in this music.” 

“How can you say that?” She was halfway out of her chair, her hands balled into fists. “It’s worse because I have no right to do anything, or even to feel this way. But I've never been this angry in my life. How can you say that you're happy?”

“You have every right.”

“Answer me.”

He stood and stepped over to her, taking her in his arms. She was rigid. 

“Because your feelings are reaching me.” 

“That isn’t the reason.”

“No. It isn’t.” The top of her head was barely grazing his chin. He pressed his lips to her hair. She went very still. “I want to know everything about you.”

There was a beat.

“I want to arrange your concert.”

“When we're done here.” He released her, sitting back down. “Then yes, it has to be you.”

She sat back down as well. For a moment, she just stared at the piece, considering. When she began writing again, she felt him watch over her shoulder. After several minutes, she slid it back to him along with the pencil, sitting back in her chair.

“It's your turn,” she said.

He looked at it, reading it over. It took a minute or so, and his expression changed as he read. When he was finished, he looked up.

“Is this what you feel?”

She was facing the window, and turned back to face him. “I feel like I’m being abandoned.” 

And then, she saw him. He was still looking at her, something almost desperate in his face. He’d let his hair grow, she realized. It was long enough to be tied back in a knot at the nape of his neck. But his habit of letting it hang over his face hadn’t changed, and tendrils of it still fell across cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. 

He was beautiful, even just sitting there. She touched a hand to her lips when she realized she’d never thought that about him before. Not consciously, anyway, even if in the back of her mind she’d known he looked like his music, without really knowing what that meant.

His eyes narrowed a bit, but not in anger. “What is it?”

She lowered her hand. “Ren,” she said, before she realized she’d said it.

Something in him released. 

Before she knew it, he was leaning over her, one hand turning her face to his as he kissed her, his lips moving against hers, his long fingers slipping into her hair for just a moment before he pulled away. She found she didn’t want him to, found that her eyes had slipped closed when she opened them again to find a look in his face that she’d seen only twice before. The first time was when she’d delivered him the lyrics she’d searched for and taped together. The second was the time she’d told him how his music made her feel after the Japan Boys Collection fashion show. It was the look of having caught him thoroughly off guard. But there was something else mixed in. For a moment, she read his mind: he wanted to pull her over him, to feel her body against his own, to kiss her once for every time he’d imagined this very situation, or something like it. Her stomach swooped. Would they be there for hours?

But he didn’t. He sat back again, looking suddenly past her. She followed his gaze, and a deep flush came to her face when she saw Tokiya look away from them and turn to continue down the hall. He’d seen everything. She was surprised when her heart lurched, a flutter of panic coursing through her.

Ren touched her jawline, and she turned back to him, still blushing. His smile had changed.

“I said I would wait until you were an adult, and I have. I can’t hold back anymore. I’m in love with you, Haruka. I want you to choose me.” He stroked her face one more time, then lowered his hand. “I’m prepared to wait for you as long as I have to until you feel the same. And even if you never do, I still want you to know how I feel.”

“Ren…” 

She felt tears, but none fell. She touched the hand that had been on her cheek, running her fingers over the back. He turned it over, lacing his fingers through hers. She breathed in, slowly.

“It doesn’t have to be a piece you play,” he said, echoing his words from the first time they composed together. He squeezed her hand, resting his forehead on hers. “I will never abandon you.”

“Ren…” She said again, tentative. She bit her lip. “Can I kiss you again?”

He took a breath, met her eyes for a moment before he closed his, lifting their joined hands to his lips. He kissed the inside of her wrist, lingering there for a long moment.

“When you know for sure.” He looked at her again, his eyes blazing. “I don’t want to share.”

He let go of her hand, rising to his feet, his back to her, before he turned and looked at her.

“Goodnight, My Lady.”

The familiar name sent a pulse through her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“Goodnight,” she said.

He left, closing the door behind him. She took a breath, burying her face in her hands. Her mind raced—almost out of habit, now, she surveyed herself. She’d wanted to _kiss_ him—

She grabbed handfuls of her hair, her hands running through it before she lowered them, balling her fists. She looked down at them. Then she reached for her pencil.

That night, she slept very late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter is very long. But I needed these scenes together, so you’re welcome I guess._
> 
> _Fair warning—after this one, things slow down a bit. But we’re about to get some backstory, finally, so bear with me._


	7. Adagio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (If you read Blue Monday yesterday, here's the resolution. x)

Tokiya was the first in the kitchen the next morning. He was standing with his back to the counter, his coffee in his hands.

“You’ve moved on,” he said.

He was still facing the window. She looked down, stopping just inside the doorway. Her voice was nearly a whisper.

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have expected you to wait. Your world is so different than ours, I sometimes forget that you aren’t held to the same rules.”

She closed her eyes as well, letting out a breath. It all came back to her, then, what she’d shut up in that box in her heart and never opened.

It had been a few weeks at most. On the heels of their first national tour after the SSS games. At that point, it had been the longest she’d gone without seeing them. She’d made a point of meeting them backstage after their last show—when she thought everyone had left, though, he’d emerged from his changing room. She remembered the feeling she’d had deep in her stomach when he walked slowly up to her, not saying a word, and pulled her into an embrace. She didn’t push back, didn’t let go. She hadn’t realized until then that she’d felt the same. 

He’d kissed her, then, in the empty hallway. She’d stopped him, fearing they’d be seen. He’d told her to meet him the next day at a café in Aoyama. It was far enough away from headquarters that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone they knew, and she’d gone.

The third time they met, he’d kissed her again on an empty path in a park under the moonlight. The sixth time, he’d taken her back to his apartment. He’d been her first. She’d stayed with him that night, and again the next.

And then he’d gone. In between, there had been ads and appearances, the usual work they all had, even a couple of recording sessions. And then they’d left on the international leg of the tour. They were gone three months.

“Ichinose-san…when you didn’t contact me, I thought that meant you had moved on.”

He set his coffee down, then turned to her, making his way over. She stayed rooted to where she was. He looked at her for a moment before taking her in his arms, his hold gentle. The first time he’d done so flashed in her mind, and she felt herself blush.

“If it had been my choice, I would have called you every day while we were away.”

Timidly, she touched a hand to his chest. She looked up at him, her question in her eyes. “Was it not?”

“No.” He looked at her. “Not long after you left, Shining came to my apartment. I could stay with you and leave STARISH, or I could end it and stay. I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I left.”

Instantly, she felt tears well up. Before she could stop them, they ran down her cheeks, a few landing on his shirt.

She hadn’t expected to hear from him, not really. Somehow, though, it had still hurt when she hadn’t. And then they’d returned, and she still didn’t hear from him. For a long time, she hadn’t known what to do.

The worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. It would have broken her if he’d left STARISH for her. Either way, they’d had no future. Of course, none of that mattered now.

“Ichinose-san,” she said again, this time through her tears.

He tightened his hold on her. “I should have told you years ago. I was afraid of hurting you. But I hurt you more by not doing so.”

She wrapped her arms around him. For a long time, she just cried, nearly silent, and he held her, his fingers slipping into her hair. After a time, she looked up at him again. “That’s why, the solo album—”

He nodded. “I still want it to be you. No one knows my music the way you do.” He smiled a bit, sadly. “I won’t stand in your way.”

“Ichinose-san…” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, looking up at him. “Thank you for telling me.”

Again, he drew her toward him. He kissed her forehead.

“I know what I want you to do for the concert.”

“Anything.”

She bit her lip, looking at his shirt where her hands were balled into it. “Will you conduct?”

He ran a hand through her hair. “Not Ayumi?”

She shook her head. “No. These last two pieces…it has to be you, Ichinose-san.”

He smiled. “I will. Always. Whatever you need.”

× × × × ×

At their next practice, Haruka was met with full stares when she walked into the room. She tried her best to ignore it, making her way down the center aisle, her back to her makeshift orchestra while she arranged her folios of instrument components on the closed lid of the piano.

“How was the gala?”

At this, she turned, pinpointing the source of the voice, and found Nagi looking at her over crossed arms with a grin that could only be described as malevolent. Haruka realized, then, that she didn't like Nagi, and there was something strangely liberating about admitting that to herself. One of the others was muttering under his breath at him, probably something rude. But Haruka just smiled, refusing to engage.

"Cat's out of the bag, isn't it," Syo asked, his look apologetic. Her smile turned a bit sad as she turned to him.

"Yes," she said. There were murmurs around the room, so she quickly added, "We can talk about that later. Right now, I’d like to discuss the second composition.”

About half the room rose out of their seats, then, and Haruka stepped aside, the folio of her portion tucked under one arm while she watched them make their way down, steeling herself for what was about to come. She turned when she saw Tokiya walking toward her.

“Did you want me to start with this?”

She nodded. “If that would be alright. Did you have enough time to look it over?”

“I believe so. But Haruka,” he touched her arm, and she looked up at him, a little taken aback at his use of her first name. “I want you to tell me if there’s something I’m not interpreting correctly.”

Ren was walking up to them, and both of them turned at the same time. Haruka’s heart gave a little lurch as she remembered what had transpired the night before—but Ren was holding up the folio, a question in his eyes.

“Lady—is this what I think it is?”

She smiled. “ _Pervigilo._ From Tempora.”

Ayumi had joined them. “The film score?”

Haruka nodded. Somewhere behind them, she heard a triumphant sound from Natsuki.

“It’s hers! This is Haruka’s! _Yes,_ we get to play Haruka’s music!”

“I’ve re-arranged it,” she said to Ayumi.

She looked again at the congregants by the piano. This was going to take a while—some were leaning over the piano in twos and threes, their instrument’s sections spread out over the space, while others—nearly everyone had their music, now—were reading it over where they stood, their looks fairly dumbstruck. She saw Masato look at her over the synth board, his eyes wide. She smiled a little.

“Everyone,” she said. Most heads turned in her direction. “Now that you’ve had a chance to see the piece, I want to talk about some of the changes I’ve made from the original. I know that everyone must have questions.”

“I’ve never seen this notation before.” Eiji was holding up the folio, indicating a line she couldn’t see, and she saw Rika glance at it.

“I’ll do my best to explain everything.”

She did. She started from the beginning: _Pervigilo,_ also known as _The Night Vigil,_ was the full theme from Tempora—the scene where Eliza Truth, the main character, is awake all night piecing together the fragments of the story she’s spent the whole film uncovering. Because her ability allows her to look back in time to events that happened in a particular place, the score repeats the same motif over and over again. That element of the score, she’d preserved—that along with the split time signatures, in which different instruments would play at different tempos, creating the effect of paint poured into turbulent water that brought the audience into what it felt like to be Eliza.

The foundation of the piece would be Masato, Tomo, Ranmaru, and Reiji. The four of them looked at each other, and she saw Ranmaru roll his eyes at the self-satisfied look on Reiji’s face as he twirled a drumstick around his finger, the movement oddly captivating. This was where it became different from the original: in the original, the synth was by itself, a slow river through the piece that carried the other instruments. Here it was much more active. The synth and the electone were the only sounds at first. Then she would come in with the woodwinds, along with Ranmaru’s bass line and Reiji on a hand drum—but at first, the primary instrument was Cecil’s ney.

Haruka did her best to ignore the scrutiny that came her way. After Cecil, there were questions about everything—why the horns were split instead of together (to create the spiral effect of Eliza’s synthesis), why the violas were principal strings instead of violins (to compliment the tonality of the ney), why she was bringing Otoya in on a shimmery reverb sandwiched between Masato and herself (it was difficult to explain, they would have to play it). At some point, someone left midway through the walkthrough, and a few minutes later Ai returned with Ringo, who was standing at the back of the room with an amused expression on his face. 

The rest of the walkthrough took most of the morning practice. Nearly everyone had questions about their parts, and she did her best to answer—as others began to pick up on what she was doing, they explained parts for her, and she would nod, making her way to the piano and playing out some pieces to accompany the stranger instrumental parts. 

When she was satisfied that everyone got the gist of it, they tried playing sections as a group. It was disorganized—few people had returned to their seats, most had simply brought their instruments with them—but somehow, what had started as skepticism began to turn to understanding, and then, finally, to excitement. Tokiya, who never left her side, took notes the whole time, barely looking up from the page. Ren—who had a challenging solo in the second movement—watched her as he played it, his eyes never leaving hers.

When they broke for lunch, Ringo stopped her by the door, and she stepped out of the way of the flow of musicians, their excitement palpable in their conversation.

“I’m almost jealous I won’t be participating,” he teased, his head turned as he followed one conversation out the door. When they were the last in the room, he turned to her. “I have the supplies you asked for. They’re waiting in your practice room. But Haruka,” his face turned serious. “Do you know what you’re doing with these?”

There were several layers to that question. “I have no idea what I’m doing with any of this,” she said. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Isn’t this a test?”

He took a step closer to her, his concern thick through his whole demeanor. “Nanami-san, I’m saying this not as your teacher, now, but as your friend. If this goes wrong…”

He trailed off, stopping himself. 

“Tsukimiya-sensei,” she said. “If this goes wrong, what do I have to lose?”

× × × × ×

Haruka returned to her practice room to find the whole room covered in thick white cloth. Not a single tiny square along any wall or panel was visible. Even the piano had been lovingly covered in some kind of white film, with only the keys remaining visible. She stepped into the room tentatively, watching the door brush against the cloth above her head, which fell back against the wall when she closed it. The floor was covered in white plastic. It crinkled with each step, the sounds muffled where the room absorbed them.

She made her way to the center of the room, where a long table had been laid out with an assemblage of trays, basins, brushes, and an incredible array of paints, far more than she’d asked for. She picked up one of the bottles, reading the label for a moment before she unscrewed the cap and squirted a line of it onto her finger. It was a thick, deep red, so dark it was almost black. It almost looked like blood.

One of the basins was filled with water. She dipped her hand into it, watching as the paint swirled off in rivulets of color. She cupped her hand, drawing some out, and ran her thumb over her finger, dislodging most of the paint on it.

Then she hurled it at the wall.

It didn’t quite make it. Some of the paint let loose in a spray, leaving a line of droplets leading toward the heavy cloth now marred with a slash of red—the paint didn’t settle where it landed, but rather ran down a short ways in eerie drops that made it look like the room was bleeding. She walked over to the mark, studying it for a moment before she walked back and wiped off her hand on a towel by the basin. Several wooden mixing trays were stacked next to the paints. She took one of them, adding several thick lines of color that she began mixing with a brush she’d pulled out of a vase that was full of them. 

She hummed to herself, considering. A moment later, another slash of color joined the first, this one larger. The brush helped the trajectory. This one was a creamy pink-brown, almost a dark skin tone. She continued humming as she mixed again, adding more red, until it darkened to a burnt mahogany.

She continued like that for a long time. Colors hit the wall in slashes and arcs, and occasionally in starbursts when she found a bucket of round sponges below the table and began dipping them in the colors she made. Occasionally, she would stop for a moment and study the walls and the ceiling. Her head began to swim.

Eventually, she washed her hands and went to the piano, setting the tray on top of it. And without looking away from the wall, she began to play.

The wall in front of her was purple. It was a thousand shades, a stream of deep midnight near the ceiling that melted into a belt of lavender and pale blue, none of it bounded by anything. She began there, diving into it as though she could feel the cold it held. It was open, endless. 

Earth.

A blue orb with a red corona, swaths of white that she hadn’t yet hit swirling over everything like clouds, or ghosts. She was a small ship in a very large sky. Deep space, glass walls—she felt them inside her, a mask at her nose and throat that kept her breathing, that extended as if down into her chest and lungs and through her again, air, matter. She was an astronaut, seeing her home from far away for the first time. So delicate and fragile. She looked out at it, gripped with a fear and longing that seized her with such force that she closed her eyes against it, only opening them when her heart broke at the thought of never seeing it again.

She poured herself out over the notes on the walls, under her fingertips. In her mind. And when she was done, she wrote them down.

× × × × ×

She wrote for hours. Long past dinner, long into the night—long enough that she ran out of paper, and considered for a moment grabbing a paintbrush and writing on the wall before the silliness of that thought brought her out of her stupor. She bent over the bench she was using as a desk, only aware at that moment that her head was throbbing. Tentatively, she raised it again after several moments, blinking against the stars she saw behind her eyes. She looked at the wall, fearful at first that her connection to it was gone—but no. When she looked at it again, she could still read it. She smiled a bit, wincing as seemingly every joint below her waist cracked as she stood up, and made her way to the door.

She felt along the panels of cloth for a moment until she found the seam between them, unlatching the door to find the hallway behind it dark. It was later than she thought. There was a rolling cart parked beside the door, stocked with food and drinks, extra paper. Even a blanket and pillow. She smiled at that, and had to cover her mouth with her hand when she started laughing.

A light clicked on down the hall, causing her to look up.

“Haru-chan?” Natsuki’s voice immediately preceded his head peering at her from around the corner, shortly followed by Syo and Otoya. Otoya beamed from behind a wave. 

“We were starting to get worried. You’ve been in there a long time,” He admitted.

“Oh. I’m sorry for worrying everyone.” She frowned, then, as something occurred to her. “Can’t you hear me when I’m in there, though?”

Syo shook his head. “I think the room is soundproofed. We can’t hear anything when the door’s closed.”

“Oh.”

“Come join us. We miss you,” Natsuki added. “We were worried when you missed dinner.”

The realization struck her, then. “It was your turn tonight, wasn’t it,” she said.

Syo smiled a bit. “We didn’t want to leave without seeing you. So we’ve been waiting.”

He meant _go to sleep for the night,_ she knew that. Still, the double meaning hit her hard, and she felt a sharp cold race down her as the thought occurred to her that this was one of the last times they would ever be together as STARISH again. She glanced back at the door, then at the tray they’d left for her. Otoya and Syo glanced at each other before Otoya darted down the hall, pushing the tray. 

“Come on,” he prompted.

She followed a couple of steps behind, her arms wrapped around herself. Sure enough, once she rounded the corner, they were all there.

How long they’d been there, she had no way of knowing. But from the looks on many of their faces, Haruka immediately sensed that they would have been there whether they were expecting her or not. Still, when she walked in, she saw a few of them sit up, subconsciously making room. Otoya, Natsuki, and Syo took their seats again, and she hesitated a moment before taking a seat by Masato, not missing the look that passed between Ren and Tokiya as she did so.

She let out a long breath. Masato glanced at her.

“Was it the third composition that kept you?”

She nodded. 

“What is it?” Tokiya asked.

“It’s a new piece. One no one has heard before.”

The silence that followed was very thick, and long enough that Haruka sat up straighter, afraid she’d said something wrong.

“A…symphony only we can play?” Ren asked, tentative.

Haruka nodded, and some of the tension eased out of her posture. They were getting it. What she couldn’t say yet. She tried anyway. 

“Yes. I’m…each of you, I’m writing you in. How I feel about each of you. It’s…like my goodbye—”

Cecil had crossed the room and lifted Haruka halfway out of her seat, hugging her fiercely. When she straightened, he drew her closer, practically locking her to him.

“No. This is _not_ goodbye.” The force of his words shocked her. For a moment, it was all she could do to stay standing, her eyes fixed on some point over Cecil’s shoulder. 

“But Cecil-san—”

He released her, taking her shoulders so that she turned and looked him in the eyes. “Listen to me, Haruka. This is not goodbye. Yes, I’m returning to Agnapolis in a few weeks. But we will see each other again.”

“And the rest of us aren’t going anywhere. We’re still gonna be around even if we’re not a band.” Syo’s look turned into a grin. “So don’t start thinking you can get rid of us that easily.”

“Everyone,” she said. She wiped under her eyes, sitting down again once Cecil had.

“Come to think of it, what are all of you doing next?” She looked at Tomo, who was sitting across the space next to Otoya. “I mean, I know you, Shinomiya, and Kurosaki already have that side project—”

“Side project?” Haruka chimed.

“Oh,” Natsuki followed, thinking. “Oh! You mean ARKANA?”

“ARKANA?”

Otoya turned to Haruka, elaborating. “Kurosaki-kun and I had a gig a while back where we filled in as stage members for a rock group. He approached me afterward about starting a project together, but it never went very far until recently.”

“It couldn’t have,” Tomo added. “Not with you being so busy.”

“Shinomiya-san, what’s your role in this?” Haruka asked.

Natsuki blushed a little. “I’m the lead vocalist.”

“It’s a metal band.” Surprise spread over Haruka’s face as she turned to Otoya again, seeing him getting pumped up. “You should hear him, Nanami. He’s really good.”

Haruka touched her mouth, stifling a laugh. “I remember. From the HAYATO show all those years ago. Almost like nothing’s changed.”

“Better than that,” Syo answered. “Way better. I’ve heard them. They have a demo out that we’re using in a shoot.”

“A shoot?”

“Another movie I’m doing. _Feel Good Drag._ It’s an action movie. I’m playing the villain, a hotshot Yakuza crime boss. They have me wearing fake tattoos and everything.” 

“That sounds kind of scary…”

He looked at Haruka, grinning. “I didn’t think I’d like it at first, but it’s actually really fun. I get to do all kinds of things I would never do as my normal self.” He stopped himself then, realizing what he was saying, and blushed a bit, running a hand through his hair. “Nanami, you should definitely come see it. There are lots of awesome car chases.”

“I will! I promise!”

“What about you three?” Tomo asked, looking at Masato, Ren, and Tokiya in turn.

“I recently bought a small restaurant chain. I’m planning to develop it more. An old friend of mine who went to culinary school in France has agreed to come back and work with me as creative director.”

“You really do have your father’s business acumen,” Ren said to him. Masato looked at him.

“I’ve finally realized that isn’t a bad thing.”

“Ichinose-san…?”

“You already know mine. The solo album. Like we talked about.” He smiled at her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Ren sit up a bit straighter. “Only, I don’t want this to be like HAYATO. Something with a more adult sound, more toned down. I have some ideas.”

She nodded at him, smiling, then turned to the one member who hadn’t yet spoken.

“Ren?”

He looked at her. “I’m less sure than the others. I’ve signed on with a modelling agency.”

He didn’t mention their composing. But he held her gaze longer than anyone else had, and after a moment, she realized he didn’t want her to say. She nodded, turning to the group.

“This makes me feel a lot better,” she said, looking around the room. Their feelings, it seemed, matched hers. “I’m still sad that this is ending, but I know we will keep seeing each other.”

“As though we would ever let you stop,” Syo quipped.

Ren was still looking at her, though his face was turned partly away. “At any rate,” he said, “We’re not done yet. We still have the final concert.”

“I’ll be there,” Haruka promised. 

“You’d better be,” Otoya said. “We started with you, and we’re finishing with you.”

Tokiya nodded. “Every step of the way.”


	8. Precipitando

The weeks that followed were a world of their own. As though her body were predicting the storm that was to come, she found herself waking earlier and earlier each day, and it wasn’t long until she was up before dawn. Every morning, she took her walk around the grounds—when Momo wasn’t off doing whatever cats do in the early morning, her companion sometimes sat with her, her tail waving over the banister of the deck while she listened to birds and crickets, wind, sunlight. Sometimes, it was so quiet she could almost hear her coffee steaming into the air. Other times, she’d hear footsteps and conversations from a growing group of runners. A group from CADENZA had discovered Tokiya’s morning habit and had begun inviting themselves, sometimes dragging others with them. 

In the years since their debut, Haruka had grown accustomed to long periods of time without seeing STARISH. Whenever they were together again, after all, it was as though no time had passed at all, and they absorbed her into them as though she had always been there. But now, as she looked again, she began to see things she hadn’t noticed before: Natsuki’s self-assurance, a closeness between Masato and Cecil that surprised her until she realized how much the Agnapolite prince had matured over the years. Some things hadn’t changed—Tokiya still existed on their outside edge, less a part of the group than the others seemed to be. On the other hand, Ren—the other person who had said ‘no’ to her when she’d first asked them to work together with her, back at Saotome Gakuen—had become an integral backbone of their group, keeping them focused, anchored.

At practice, she couldn’t help but notice the shifting dynamics throughout their corps. Yamato and Kanako still bickered, like they had since the beginning, but there was a warmth to it now that surprised Haruka when she first noticed it, not least because of the icy looks Ikumi and Shizuka would shoot their way. Eiji and Ayumi could often be found off to one side of the group, discussing arrangements and movements—Tomoka and Rika had somehow gotten Kira to talk more, the dynamic between the sisters irresistible even for him. All around, there were changes and mixes, and sometimes little conflicts. Shizuka and Eiichi had gotten into it badly enough to stop practice once, but not severely enough that they gave up for the day. Even Tokiya and Emiko had hit it off, the young prodigy at first a little starstruck. 

Once upon a time, that had been her.

But mostly, she wrote. As the weeks went on, her practice room became more and more colorful, a sea of space and stars, of sky, of treetops, wind, birds, time, four dimensions, never staying exactly the same. Sometimes she painted with her hands, emerging covered in paint after many hours to the sounds of evening chatter, and sometimes to a house dark with sleep. She wrote with her eyes, played with her mind. Once, she even stripped down to her underwear and wrote with her whole body, taking one of the canvasses partially down and leaving herself on the folds of fabric draped across the floor the way the present age was leaving her behind.

She wrote them in—the blues of HEAVENS, the pastels of CADENZA, the bright, sharp metallics of HONEY BIRD. Swaths of green and gold and pink where Cecil, Natsuki, and Syo were an aurora through Masato and Tokiya’s indigo sky. A flower field of scarlet and magenta, the unlikely love between her best friend and first musical partner. And through it all, the warm glow—first tentative, then hopeful, trusting—the sun to the earth, orange as it set, always watchful. 

Her methods changed. When she wasn’t composing in her practice room, she would keep her door open while she played and wrote, and sometimes one or two people would wander in at a time to listen. Eventually, she began to write at the old upright piano in the sitting room, talking and laughing with a growing crowd of misfits. They pressed her on the piece, and she let them, spending more and more time with them as the performance drew closer, writing their conversations into the storm of colors in her practice room. She took notes on staff paper as it came to her, the melody eventually writing itself almost before she could hear it. The first time she played the piece in its entirety, with one week to go before the concert, tears had long since begun streaming down her face by the time she finished.

A second component to morning practice emerged. After she played through a segment, doing a walkthrough if need be, she and Tokiya would convene over the piano, and she would explain moods and tempos and dynamics while he strategized in the margins, discussing conducting plans with her so intricate and detailed she wondered how he would be able to keep up with them all. And then he would lead them through, executing his plan to the letter, and she would follow him. More than once, she caught a knowing look from Eiichi over his stand from where he sat between his brother and Van. But eventually, she was able to ignore this—to ignore the scrutiny, the whispered questions between her friends, the lingering doubt—even her own fear, at least to the extent it stood in her way.

And then there was Ren. The first week or so after the banquet, he hadn’t come to her. Instead, the night after, she’d heard a knock at her door and expected it to be him, only to find an irate Ikumi, who scolded her for not telling her what had happened right away.

“I had to find out from _Tomoka._ ” She said her name like it was distasteful, a hand on her heart, though Haruka knew Ikumi didn’t have anything against her.

“There was no time, Ikumi-chan. It all happened so fast.”

And they couldn’t begrudge her, not really. That night, Shizuka and Kanako had joined her after she’d consoled Ikumi, and they’d stayed up far too late laughing and telling stories, like they were teenagers again. More than one person had knocked at her door to tell them to quiet down, most of whom Kanako or Ikumi batted away, until it was Tomo. Her look was apologetic, almost wistful, like she wanted to join them.

“I can’t, though. Otoya gets lonely. Just promise not to have all the fun without me,” she’d said with a wink, before pulling the door closed again.

The first time he came back to her, she’d already begun to wonder if what had happened between them had meant anything. But then he’d brought the piano bench over to her table and produced the most recent version of their composition, now covered all over with scratched-out notes and re-writes. 

“I didn’t want to come back until I had answered you,” he’d said. “What you felt. This is my response.”

When she’d read it, she’d cried. But before he could do anything else, she picked it up and took it over to the piano, where she’d played the melody, slowly, improvising in the open spaces as they had done since the beginning. He’d joined her, setting the bench behind her so she could sit. He sat next to her. That was the first time she could remember wanting him to touch her.

Sometimes, when he came to her, she was too tired to compose, and they would just talk late into the night about anything that wasn’t the concert until he eventually returned to his room. Other times, they would compose if she was up for it—sometimes their piece, sometimes others, fields of color swimming before her as they wrote together. Once, she explained it to him:

“Each of you has a color, and sounds and feelings do too. So, for you—if I hear something orange, it might make me think of you.”

“Feelings, too?”

They’d moved over to the bed, Haruka propped up as much against his chest as against the wall, his arm around her shoulder while she wrote for both of them in an open notebook in her lap. She blushed a little at the proximity of his face, the almost teasing look he was giving her.

“Y-yes,” she said, turning partway forward. “They’re always the same. Like panic, for me, is a dark blue. Fear is red, happiness is pink, sadness is greenish-grey.”

“And love?”

She stiffened a bit, her blush deepening, and turned to lean against his chest in a way that he couldn’t see her face.

“White,” she nearly whispered. “Bright white. Like new snow under the sun.”

He ran his hand through her hair. She relaxed a bit, letting the notebook fall closed. After a moment, she shifted, and his hand stilled, only to tighten around her as her temple settled above his collarbone. Her mind raced. She felt his heartbeat against her cheek.

“Ren,” she said after several minutes, turning enough to look up at him. “Did it bother you when I said I would do an album with Tokiya?”

He didn’t respond right away. She felt him breathe, and turned so she was resting against him again. It took a minute or so before she realized she had used both of their first names, and when she realized it, she pursed her lips against her finger.

“I was jealous at first.”

“But?”

“I have a proposal for you. _But,_ it will have to wait until after the concert.” She looked up again to find a small grin on his face. “It would make me happy if you would let me keep this one secret, My Lady.”

“That’s not fair.” With a sigh, she settled against him again. “That’s what I want the most.”

“Mmh? What is? To know my secrets?”

She breathed a laugh, shaking her head, then bit the skin over her knuckle as her smile faded.

“Your happiness.”

There was a very long beat. Her heart raced.

“Haruka…are you—"

She nodded. 

For a moment, he just looked at her, searching. Then, very gently, he turned her face to his and kissed her. 

Her head swam. Something lurched in her chest and raced down between her legs, sparkling like windchimes. But she couldn’t keep the angle for long. When her neck began to protest, she turned into him, leaving the wall. She rested a hand on his chest that made its way around the back of his neck. 

He tilted his head. Her fingers slid into his hair. His mouth slanted over hers.

His tongue probed her lip. She parted her mouth and met him, gasping into his. It wasn’t enough. He leaned over her, the arm around her back drawing her closer. She felt a hand on her upper leg, then under until she moved her legs on top of his. She braced against his chest. The hand that wasn’t around his neck clutched his shoulder as his tongue swept in, twining with hers, tasting her. She shuddered, then, and he left her mouth, kissing beneath her ear in a way that made her bare her neck to him. 

She gasped. He stopped then, breathing hard, his nose grazing her throat. She looked at him, first at his lips, then his eyes, which were dark in the low lamplight.

It was the look he’d given her when he’d seen her in her dress the first night they’d arrived at the resort house. How long he’d felt this way, she couldn’t know. 

Haruka pulled his face back to hers, kissing him until she felt him push forward from the wall. He slid out from under her legs, barely braking contact. She clutched at his shirt. He climbed over her, one arm wrapped around her back, the other gripping the blanket beside her head.

She slid the hand on his chest down his torso, feeling the lines of his body through the fabric of his shirt before slipping it beneath, touching skin. She felt him gasp, felt the fingers at her side graze skin as well.

He pulled back. He was as tight as a rubber band that had been stretched out.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said, searching her, urgent.

Haruka pulled his shoulders back down.

“Yes we do.”

He snapped. His hand slipped under her shirt and he lifted her into him, the hand that was gripping the blanket wrapping under her lower back, one of his knees sliding between hers as he crawled over her, suddenly not able to touch her enough. She bowed upward, a hand now across his back under his shirt. She tugged on it. He let her go long enough to pull it off and look at her with hunger before he was on top of her again, kissing her harder, like she was about to disappear.

“Haruka.” Her shirt was halfway off. She wiggled it free. 

His eyes raked over her body. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, and a staccato of desire ran through her as she saw how much he wanted her. His eyes had darkened to a shade that almost looked green in the dim room. They didn’t leave hers as he ran a hand over her stomach, tracing the line of her shorts.

She lifted her hips and he tugged on the waistband, pulling them free along with her underwear. Then his lips were all over her body, his hands holding her wrists in place. She wrapped a leg around one of his. He laid down next to her, using the leg that was between hers as leverage to flip their positions until she was on top of him. Goosebumps erupted over her back. He wrapped his arms around her and she planted a knee on the outside of his hip, his thumb rubbing semicircles over her ribcage.

“What?” She asked after several moments that felt like hours. She suppressed a shiver at the lack of contact—or maybe just the room, suddenly cold without him on top of her. She’d let her hair fall over one shoulder and he slid a hand into it, pulling her down to him after a moment so their chests were touching.

“Just savoring this,” he said. 

He kissed her again, slower this time. She smiled into it, her hand running up and down his body, feeling his muscles tense and relax under her touch. She slipped her hand into his jeans. When she began to work them free, he gasped and grabbed her wrist.

“Not yet,” he said, breathless.

“Take these off,” she demanded, equally breathless. She pulled her hand back. His eyes blazed.

“As you wish.”

He was off of her for a moment before he tossed them aside, reaching immediately for Haruka and flipping their positions again. His lips found her neck, her collarbone—her eyes slipped closed, and she gasped as his tongue met a sensitive place beneath her breast, a strong arm beneath her lower back lifting her into him for a moment before sliding up her bare back. His other hand raked down her side until it came to a stop between her legs. 

She gasped when he touched her. “Haruka,” he said. “Look at me.”

With effort, she did. She opened her eyes, fighting the urge to close them, gasping again as he moved a finger inside her. But her eyes never left his. The hand on her back slid up until he was holding her head, keeping her from turning her face away.

He crooked a long finger against her wall. She arced up into it, reaching down between her legs and holding his hand there. With his thumb, he stroked slow circles around her clit. Her vision swam. He added a second finger, then a third, pressing again against the spot on her wall that made her see stars. 

He was playing her like his saxophone.

That thought tipped her over, and she cried out softly when she came. Her body tensed and released, her leg hooking over his, her eyes slipping closed for a moment before she opened them again as waves of pleasure coursed through her. He departed for a moment and she allowed herself to close her eyes, touching herself, her own wetness coating her fingers. He was back just as quickly.

She looked at him, laughing a little as she saw that he’d wrapped himself with a condom. “You were prepared.”

“I was hopeful,” he grinned, and kissed her. 

She hummed, still smiling as she spoke through his kisses, breathless. “Should I ask how long you were carrying that around?”

She felt his laugh against her bare chest, his nose against the column of her throat. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Almost three weeks.” His voice was almost a growl. She shivered, turning into him, sliding an arm around his back. Her hand ran over the planes of his shoulders. 

When he entered her, he bowed her into him, one hand on her rear, the other on her lower back. He stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathing hard as he buried himself in her. It was his eyes that closed for a moment, now. She watched his face as she urged him deeper, her eyes drifting closed as he began to move.

They moved together, her hands grasping for his shoulders, his back, anything she could find to gain purchase. It would have been easier if he’d let her fall back against her mound of pillows. But he never did. Instead, they moved slowly, their hands still roving over each other, her leg bent against his side. Their hands met. He interlaced their fingers, kissing her mouth. Her head rocked back for a second as she came again. 

He didn’t last much longer. A small sound escaped him, and she both watched and felt him still for a long moment until he reached a hand behind her head, his forehead touching hers.

“Thank you,” he said. He kissed her again, and they kissed for a long time.

× × × × ×

A week before the performance, Haruka stepped back from the swirls of color in her practice room, paintbrush still in hand, and assessed. After a few moments, she set the brush down in a basin of water clouded blue-grey. Pieces of the now-familiar melody came to her, different segments and sounds every time she turned her head. To anyone else, they were out of time. But the storm of color in front of her had a beginning and an end.

She’d written it all down.

She dipped her hands in the clouded water, wiping them off on the shirt that was long since covered in paint. Pieces of the composition were stacked in piles on the piano. She made her way to them, reading them, placing them in order. When she was done, she took one last look at the colors. They were seared into her memory, but the true image would always be better than a depiction of it. She’d learned that long ago.

A little while later, once she’d changed, she found Ringo in the sitting room discussing something or other with QUARTET NIGHT. Reiji saw her first.

“All done?”

She was holding the papers close to her chest, her arms crossed over them like they were a small animal she needed to protect. She nodded. The others fell silent. Reiji smiled, then, and made his way to her, holding out a hand. When she realized he wanted her to give him the composition, she blushed, and handed him the first page.

 _“Overlook,”_ he said, reading the piece’s English title, then its Japanese. “Yuugen.”

“Those aren’t the same thing,” Ringo said, arcing a brow.

Ai looked at her. “You mean the overlook effect?”

“You know it?” Haruka asked.

He nodded, turning to Ringo. “What astronauts experience when they look out over earth from space. There are plenty of data supporting it.”

“That’s awfully poetic,” Reiji said, handing the page back to her.

She smiled. _Yuugen_ meant wonder, fascination, being moved and touched. The great machine she was a part of, but so much more than that.

“It will make sense when you hear it,” she said. “Well…I hope it will.” Ringo stood up off the arm of the couch, making his way over, and she handed him the full stack. She blushed a little. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Ringo smiled. “I’ll take good care of it,” he said with a wink, then sauntered out of the room. But before he’d left, he turned around. “You know, Haruka—if it were up to me, this would be all the proof I’d need.” 

A next-level composer. Her blush deepened.

“But it isn’t up to you,” Camus answered flatly.

“He’s right. The world needs to know.” Reiji took her hand and kissed it. His eyes grinned. “We’ll show them what you can do.”

× × × × ×

The rest of the week was all practice. With her compositions finished, both the morning and afternoon sessions, she practiced with them, tightening transitions and adjusting such minutiae as dynamics and tempos as Tokiya and Ayumi advised. They played and played, and colors swam before her vision, and each evening, they’d break for dinner exhausted. By the next morning, they were always ready to go. But the night before the concert, Haruka was restless, pacing in her room, pouring over everything that could happen or go wrong, how she could anticipate it, how she could accommodate sudden changes—Ren found her at her desk, a paper in hand, biting the end of her pencil. She’d tried to distract herself with something else. He kissed her forehead.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

In a flash, she was up out of her chair, holding him to her, and he was moving backward toward the bed—he hit the edge first, and she fell against him, kissing him. He held her shoulders, moving a hand into her hair, behind her head, understanding her. In what felt like seconds, they were undressed, and she slid on top of him, both of their hands braced against the bed.

Later, they laid there together. He leaned over her on one arm, a thumb grazing across the bare skin inside her hip bone. She watched him look at the flower that was drawn there, the body a single line that he traced before he looked up at her.

“When did you get this?”

The skin where his fingers touched felt electrified.

“A couple of years ago. I wanted to do something for myself.”

He kissed it. Her hips arced up. Soon he was touching her again, kissing his way down her body, tracing the line of the tattoo with his tongue. He brought her over again and again, with his fingers, his tongue, slowly, until she flipped them over and planted her hands on his chest, riding him until he finished.

“Haruka,” he rasped out, his eyes clenched. Then he opened them and pulled her down to him.

She fell asleep with her head on his chest, an arm wrapped around her back. Her last thought before she drifted off was that the chasm inside her had closed.


	9. Crescendo

The next morning, he’d awoken to find Haruka gone. Whether she couldn’t sleep or whether it was something else, he couldn’t have known. But her bed was comfortable and warm, and it smelled like her, and since it was barely dawn and the concert wasn’t until evening, he turned over and went back to sleep.

She wasn’t there when he woke up the second time, either. But her things were still there, down to the papers spread over her writing table. He sat up, running a hand over his eyes. Haruka’s cat had been laying down on top of the piano—he watched her pretend not to see him, stand, stretch lazily, shaking out her paws, then jump down and saunter over to him. He picked his pants up off the floor, running a hand over her head as he did so.

She leapt up onto the bed and sat down in the warm spot he’d vacated, watching him.

“Is that how it is?”

Her tail waved in the air behind her. He sighed a laugh and finished getting dressed, making his way over to the table.

Minami’s letter was still there. It was where he’d left it, in fact, when he’d read it those weeks ago, when Haruka had been in the place she went when she wrote—he knew he shouldn’t, but he picked it up again, reading over the short message. 

With STARISH disbanding, her main link to Shining, to him, was being cut. There was no way around it. He’d come here knowing that. Having something to focus on had helped. Haruka coming to need him as much as he needed her had been more helpful than he could imagine. Still, he felt the restlessness he’d felt the whole time they’d been here—the delicate line, the stakes, the reminder. The reminder of his bandmates, and even the others. The others like _him._ He wasn’t the only one who saw her this way. He set the letter back down.

Momo followed him out of Haruka’s room, and he watched under his shoulder as the cat darted out down the hall, probably to enjoy the last of her freedom. When he arrived back to his own room, Masato shot him a look, then resumed packing.

Ren let out a breath, then made his way over to his side of the room, beginning to do the same. There wasn’t much aside from clothing, other than his dartboard.

“We have a press conference at the agency before the performance today,” Masato said, folding a shirt. “About the final concert. We’re to leave in an hour.”

“Does Haruka know?”

“I don’t know. Last I knew, she’d been with that talent manager all day. I figured you would know better than I would.”

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew Masato well enough to know that remark was as much an accusation as a statement of fact.

“No,” he answered, quiet. “She was gone when I woke up this morning.”

Neither of them said anything after that. He finished folding his own clothes, stripping the bed linens and leaving them at the foot of the bed, then retrieved his dartboard off the wall and laid it on top of his suitcase. When Masato spoke again, he turned to find him leaning against his bedframe, looking at him over crossed arms.

“What?”

“I’ve tried to be angry with you this whole time. But I can’t bring myself to it. Whatever you’ve done…she’s different, somehow. She needed you for this.”

Ren shook his head. 

“No. She isn’t the girl we knew in school anymore. She’s had her own life that’s very different from ours, we just haven’t seen it.”

“You did.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well,” Masato turned, moving his closed suitcases onto the floor and withdrawing the handles. “For what it’s worth, Jinguji, I wish you the best. Take care of her.”

“I will.”

“There are many people who would love to be in your place.”

With that, he left. Ren let out a breath. Then, after a moment, he followed.

× × × × ×

As Masato had said, the car was there to pick them up within the hour. Because of their press conference, they were the first group to go—in the flurry of the emptying house, he’d tried to find Haruka, but no one had seen her. As they were leaving, he texted her.

_Looked for you this morning. We had to leave early for a press conference. I’ll see you this evening—don’t be nervous. You’re going to do just fine._

After a moment, he added:

_Next time, I want to wake up next to you._

He closed his phone.

At the press conference, he found it difficult to concentrate. The room where it was held had been made to look like a living room, the seven of them piling in on couches and chairs in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the grounds. It was a smart move—the bright sunlight caused them to be backlit, which would render any photos imbalanced. The only ones that would make it would be the official press photos they’d take right before the concert. The only images of their few remaining days would be those vetted personally by Shining, who even had control of their social media accounts, per company policy.

It had been astonishingly easy to tell him, all those months ago. When the arrangements had been finalized for the international leg of what would end up being their last tour, the seven of them had simply strode into his office and told him they were disbanding. To Ren’s astonishment, it had thrown him—but to his further astonishment, he had accepted it. They would play the tour as planned. Shining would reserve rights to their final arrangements after it ended. They’d heard later from Ringo that Shining had been suspicious they might call an end to it soon, for reasons none of them could quite parse out at the time. Of course, it was likely that none of them but Shining and possibly Ringo knew about Minami’s pursuit of Haruka—none of them had known of the talent manager’s existence until earlier that month.

The first night at the lake house, Reiji had called her the Lady Killer. It was fitting. Where Shining bellowed, and Raging thundered, Minami snuck. She was silent and left no traces she didn’t intend to leave. Or was that even a fair assessment? What little he knew of her, he knew only by proxy, through Haruka. Was that deliberate as well?

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced outside. Shining favored a French style, and the flowers were in a full summer bloom. He thought of the tattoo on Haruka’s hip. Of all the things it could have been, it was a rose. It was a common enough symbol that he knew it was presumptuous to assume it had been a dedication. Still, he’d be lying to say it hadn’t thrilled him.

When they were through, the afternoon stretched out almost too long. For an ordinary show, if they weren’t using the time to practice, they usually did something together. Sometimes it was all seven, sometimes just twos and threes. They would find local restaurants or interesting places in the cities they visited. Sometimes they made appearances to fans. Being sequestered at the agency felt almost wrong, and there was a restlessness through them that had everyone on edge. He’d thought it was just him until he’d really looked at his bandmates after the press conference. They hadn’t dispersed immediately, and had at first just sat in silence, none of them quite knowing what to do.

Tokiya had been the first to leave. He left without a word, nearly silent as he crossed the room and shut the door behind him. Some of the others watched his back as he went. Some stayed put—Masato and Otoya made their way out the door at the other side of the room from where Tokiya had left, Otoya with his face buried in his phone.

When it seemed like nothing else was going to happen, he recused himself to a practice room. The prospect of being around the others was surprisingly unappealing. Instead, he ran through his portions on recordings he’d made of their final practice sessions, trying, and mostly failing, to distract himself. It was hard not to think of Haruka when he was playing her pieces. Every so often, he’d check his phone to find that she still hadn’t responded. That wasn’t entirely a surprise. If she was with Minami, then Minami was likely doing everything in her power to keep Haruka’s nerves at bay without her realizing that’s what she was doing. And _that_ wasn’t a judgement, he thought. It’s what he would have done. 

When it was time to leave, he changed in the empty practice room, joining the others as they piled into a limo parked outside the agency. Everyone had their instruments with them, except for Masato—it was a little silly, he thought, but it was part of the stunt. None of the fans knew what they were doing, only that there was to be some kind of special private concert.

“Shining set up a big TV special for the debut,” Natsuki informed him as they were on their way. “Ringo told us while you were gone.”

“Does she know?”

“We don’t know. I don’t think so,” Syo answered.

“I hope not. Haru-chan had stage fright when we were at school.”

“That is a concern,” Masato echoed. “She froze up. It was as though she’d forgotten how to play.”

Ren bit the inside of his lip. He hadn’t known that, but it didn’t surprise him.

“I don’t think she’d played for anyone before,” Natsuki countered. “She’s used to it now. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

He looked at his phone. Haruka still hadn’t responded. He thought of texting her again. As he was considering what to say, though, they pulled up to the concert hall.

Four other limousines were parked outside. They pulled up one after the other, parking parallel to each other so that they formed stripes against the curb. Behind them, a long red carpet wrapped around the building on one side, buttressed by a line of fencing that separated them from thousands of fans.

They’d been in this situation before, probably hundreds of times. There was a part of him that was glad it was ending. From the beginning, this had been a part of being an idol that he hadn’t liked. The separation and distance from other people made it seem as though the message was that they were better than their fans. About half the idols had exited by that point, the women all in black dresses, the men in dark suits. Some of them were quite ostentatious—Kondo Ikumi’s had spiked, sequined shoulders that extended past her ears, with a long snake of exposed skin down her chest, around her torso. They were over the top compared to other orchestras, he thought. Then again, most orchestras weren’t composed of thirty-five idols.

Screams from the fans had erupted full stop by the time STARISH had joined them. A few among them had made their way over to the crowd, security officers looking at them sideways while they signed autographs. He saw Sonoda Rika, shoulders and arms wrapped in black lace, lean in for a selfie with a group of female fans. He heard his name as he passed by, and smiled at them, but couldn’t spare more than that. Not now.

Inside, they were ushered into the backstage. At that hour, the foyer was still empty but for a few agency representatives and elite press who had been let in early. He kept to the sides, looking around for evidence of where Haruka might be. Predictably, there was none. 

Television crew made their way through their number with a large camera arm, moving against the flow. Backstage, the emcee waited for them, and they listened to the order of the evening, a range of postures from attentiveness to disinterest spread among them. Ikumi examined her nails. Tokiya looked like he would be taking notes, if he’d had something to write on. They were instructed to prepare their instruments as fully as possible before bringing them out to their assigned seats, which were noted with cards on the stage. They had an hour until doors opened. Fifteen minutes before that, they should be backstage. Any questions were to be directed to him or to the stage manager—a small woman wearing a headset waved at them from where she stood by a second film crew. When they made their way out onstage—presumably to set up in a corner or box with a better view—he found himself unexpectedly relieved. Haruka might not see them if they weren’t in plain view.

The minutes dragged on. Tokiya made his way over to the emcee, and he heard him running over the details of the pieces and how he would be conducting them—to help him glean some information about how to present them, probably. But most of the others just stood around. Tuning instruments didn’t take long for most of them. Before long, most of the group had left their instruments by their chairs, as instructed. His own, he’d already tuned that day, but he checked his saxophone just to be sure, if only because it gave him something to do.

It was almost certainly too late to see Haruka before the performance. Wherever she was, she was probably in the middle of her own preparations. He thought again of texting her. But there was nothing left to say that wouldn’t spike her nerves. Natsuki and Masato’s recount of her stage fright in school reverberated in his mind. There was a chance he could see her before the performance—but when the time came to line up to walk onstage, she still wasn’t there. 

He felt a flash of resentment toward Minami. It was possible the talent manager was more thorough even than Shining in her machinations.

There was a round of applause as they entered. There were some cheers, but no screams. This was a different audience than they usually played to.

He looked at the cameras, his saxophone on his lap. Then, he waited.

× × × × ×

In one of the dressing rooms, Minami sat with Haruka, fixing her hair. Her makeup, she’d done first, a process that took a little longer due to the fact she had to consider the harsh lighting she’d be under up on the stage. Her hair was up, Haruka could feel that. But she couldn’t see it. 

A silky black scarf sat over her eyes. She could feel Minami working the long ends of it into her hair, the rest of it secured to her face with pins along her hairline that were cleverly worked into the folds. At one side—the side that would face the audience—was a glittering hairpin, a lily, that she wore above her ear, to which she raised her fingers absently until Minami scolded her.

“Don’t touch it. I’m almost finished.”

Haruka felt her friend and coworker tie a knot into the scarf, and it tightened infinitesimally. “When I’m done here, if you need to see, lift it from the bottom.”

“Okay.”

“And, done.” She felt Minami step back, probably admiring her handiwork. “This was a good idea. I’m glad you thought of it.”

She hadn’t, really, but she didn’t want to say that, either. She remembered the feel of Ren’s hands over her eyes, blushing a little under the fabric. There would probably be many more times today that she’d be grateful for it.

“It helps me concentrate. I can see the colors in my mind better if there’s nothing else distracting my vision. It helps me remember the visual piece.”

“Speaking of,” Minami said. “I thought I should let you know that Ringo took the liberty of installing it here. It will be uncovered after the intermission.”

“Oh,” Haruka said. Her blush deepened, probably visibly, because she felt Minami squeeze her shoulder. “I…wish he’d asked first.” She laughed a little. “I’m not an artist.”

“I beg to differ. It’s very striking. The audience will enjoy seeing it.”

“It’s just the colors I see when I hear the music,” she answered.

“To be inside your mind,” Minami said, a smile in her voice. “What fascinating things must take place there.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Haruka felt Minami step away from her, gathering up something in the room that she couldn’t see. After a minute or so, she said:

“It’s almost time. The others are getting into position now. It’s almost your turn.”

“I wish I could see them.”

“You will at intermission, I promise. For now, though, it’s better this way. You’ll all be more focused.”

Haruka laughed a little. “I suppose you’re the expert.”

Minami squeezed her arm, guiding her off the chair. 

Then, it was time. They moved into position at side stage. The emcee was already halfway through his opening remarks, and she heard Minami make a quiet exchange with the stage manager that she missed, her attention elsewhere. 

“Make me proud, Lovely,” Minami said. Haruka felt rather than heard the faint sounds of her heels as she turned down the hall.

“I will do my best,” she said to herself.

Her heart raced, sending flashes of nervous heat through her that made the periodic drafts of cold air from backstage all the more striking, goosebumps erupting over her back where the deep cut of her performance dress exposed nearly her entire back. Through the roar of blood in her ears, she barely made out her name, followed by a round of applause. When she stepped onto the stage, the two sounds were interchangeable—all the more so when a series of gasps and murmurs began to bubble up from the audience. 

She walked the route she’d practiced a dozen times that afternoon in an effort to calm her butterflies. Then she took a seat at the bench. 

Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she didn’t hear the first few soft measures from the strings, and it took the sound of the first violin—Syo, she reminded herself—before the piece came back to her like water being poured from a pitcher, a steady, constant stream. 

The familiar music made it easier to let the audience fall away. She turned to the piano, blocking everything else out except for the sound. She counted out the first announcement from the horns, bright yellow-gold, then the second, followed by the deep greens of the cellos, which grew louder. 

And then it was memory. She walked onto the notes as though she were walking into a spring garden in full bloom. There was no one else, nothing else but music. For several minutes, her fingers danced over the measures of Chopin’s op. 11, the only other sound behind her the occasional soft compliment of the strings and a delicate, thrumming synth she’d adapted into the concerto. 

She lost herself to it, growing, pulling back. The soft pulse of the French horns signaled her shift into the second half of the first movement, and the strings began to ebb and flow with her. A mountain, a triumph. 

She faded out and they took her place. Then they too faded out, replaced by the woodwinds, until they all joined back together and the cellos waved her back in. She smiled. 

Then—all too quickly, it seemed—the nearly 45-minute piece was over. 

She sat back on the bench, bending back so her head fell toward the floor, ignoring etiquette. She smiled at the ceiling, then her friends, and finally, the audience, as they erupted into applause and cheers. She heard a whistle from the orchestra, but there was no way of knowing who it came from. Dimly, she registered the emcee take the stage again to introduce the second piece, and she straightened, waiting. 

There were murmurs in the crowd, softer now. Laughter at some joke the emcee made. Her body thrummed. She wanted him to stop talking.

Whether the others felt the same as her, she couldn’t know. The opening notes of The Night Vigil were playing before the emcee had finished speaking. A deep, midnight walk rumbled through her, batting at the edge of her consciousness like a dream. The first notes were so quiet and unobtrusive they were barely audible at all. A shimmering chord followed after the hall had gone quiet again—her head snapped up in Otoya's direction until she remembered she couldn't see him.

There was surprise in the audience. She could feel it. This wasn’t what they were used to. The thought thrilled her. The tones of Cecil's strange flute came next, followed by the violas, a vibrating wave that sent thrills down her arms as she played the first short burst. 

Then the pieces slotted in, one by one. They rotated out of each other, building constantly. She felt something in her rise up and lift itself up, something with hands and wings.

There was a deep pulse of bass and percussion, and Haruka felt a rush of adrenaline as the first motif split off, repeating itself. The second marched in, its time signature a third faster now as Eliza Truth grappled with pieces of the puzzle she never knew were connected. Haruka slipped into her. Her fingers were the puzzle. Dimly, a corner of her mind registered the palpable shock coming from the audience at each twist and turn, the near chaos, the uprooted and overturned feeling of being a thousand times at once—it should have been chaos, cacophonous, and it hovered just on the edge, neither in nor out, as Eliza sifted through threads and whorls of time until she found the strand she was looking for. 

There was a long plateau. She heard the wail of Ren’s saxophone underneath the highest tones of the piano, holding for a moment until they broke. The wall of sound crashed down around them, and Eliza stood in the rubble, holding the strand she’d been looking for as she led the orchestra out into the final march.

When it was time for the intermission, she stood up from the piano, smiling as she felt a rush of wind behind her as the curtains fell closed. She made her way offstage, her fingers brushing against the tapered walls before she remembered that her eyes were covered and lifted the blindfold, folding it back over her eyebrows as Minami had instructed. Even the darkness of the side stage was bright enough that she blinked against it for several seconds until her eyes adjusted. 

No one else had followed her. The others, she imagined, had gone through the stage exit further back. Sure enough, as she walked toward the light in the main backstage area, she heard her name. Half a second later, several of her friends had swarmed around her.

“Haruka!” Tomo reached her first, wrapping her in a hug. “That was amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this!”

“You’ve been _perfect,_ ” Kanako echoed.

Cecil nodded. “I could listen to you play forever.”

“Thanks, everyone.” A couple of hands had joined Tomo’s on her back, though she couldn’t tell whose they were. 

“How can you play without being able to see?” Someone asked. She turned partway around to see Ayumi standing behind her.

“Yeah, what’s with the blindfold? Is that so you can tune out the broadcast?”

“Broadcast?” She looked at Tomo. “What broadcast?”

They all looked at each other. For a moment, no one said anything, and she looked around at all of them.

“We thought you knew. Shining commissioned a television special for this. They’ve been filming the whole time.” Tomo held her shoulders, meeting her eyes. “You didn’t know?”

Haruka felt a chill. She shook her head, taking a step back from Tomo, who released her shoulders.

“I…need to talk to Minami really quickly. Thank you all.” 

As she turned, she gave them a look she hoped was sincere. As she made her way closer to the group in the back, she scanned their number—Minami wasn’t there. A couple of them called out for her, but she turned around before they reached her. 

Her heart was racing. She walked around the group that had met her initially, making her way toward the dark side stage to where she’d seen the stage manager disappear earlier. She hadn’t gotten very far at all when she almost literally ran into Minami, who stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she turned and saw who it was, she felt her guard drop. 

“They’re filming?” She squeaked out.

Carefully, the talent manager wrapped her in a hug. The hand between her shoulders was cold, and she felt herself shiver.

“I thought about whether to tell you. I thought it may be better if you didn’t know.”

“I wish I didn’t,” she said.

“You’ll be fine.” Minami studied her face, adjusting the position of the scarf over her forehead. “Keep doing what you’ve been doing. It’s just another person in the audience.”

“Minami-chan, I can’t—”

She held her shoulders. “Yes you can. Yes you _can,_ Lovely. You’ve made it this far. Keep doing your best.”

Minami hugged her again, shorter this time. Behind her, Tomo had broken off from the group and made her way over to them. She walked up slowly, holding her hands in front of her.

“I’m so sorry. I was the one who told her. I didn’t realize she didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. With her being with me today, I didn’t think—”

Whatever Minami said next, Haruka didn’t catch. Further behind them, Ren was standing against the wall. Almost on autopilot, she walked between her two closest friends, whom she saw out of the corners of her eyes turn toward her simultaneously—he met her halfway, taking a wrist in one hand, running his thumb along the scarf by her temple with the other.

“So, you know,” he said. “I overheard. I was hoping this would keep it from you.”

“I—” She trailed off. “I know it shouldn’t be any different, but—”

The thumb at her temple smoothed down her jawline, and he nodded. He understood.

“Put this into your music,” he said. “The final piece is a good vehicle. Let this out. Don’t hold back, Honey.”

He took a step back. Tomo was walking toward them, back toward the group.

“Hm?—”

“After.” He smiled, mostly with his eyes, and followed Tomo. As he went, he glanced back at her and winked. 

She stood there for a moment, watching him go, then turned to Minami, who shrugged.

And then, she was alone. Haruka could feel her heartbeat in her ears as the audience clapped for the returning orchestra. 

Once again, she pulled the blindfold over her eyes and stepped into the light. This time, it was worse—the air in the hall, already cold, seemed colder, and the faint damp of sweat from the first half still seeped into her dress, making the tight material feel like a bind around her body. Now that she knew they were there, she could feel the cameras against her like searchlights, seeing through her. 

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her. The hall fell silent. She clutched the edge of the piano bench, then raised her fingers tentatively to the keys.

There was no sound. She felt her arms lock up and looked up toward what she thought was the other side of the stage. For a moment, she was back in her classroom at Saotome Gakuen, pinned to her seat by the murmurs and whispers of her classmates. 

And then, one by one, colors flooded into the dark space before her eyes. How they arrived made no sense—but as though the others were willing her, carrying her, until the cacophony of colors took shape behind her eyes—a bird?

 _No,_ she thought. _A spaceship._

 _“It’s going to be okay,”_ Ren had said to her the previous night. The memory brought her back with a little jolt, and she felt a rush of something that could have been excitement, or fear, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was a warm golden orange. 

Something ran up her spine. She pushed it down. She could do this. She had to do this. 

She turned to Tokiya and nodded.

The first movement, _Earth,_ was about emergence, birth, stepping into oneself, the mystery of the feeling that she knew, now, bound her friends’ fans to them, that bound her to them. What bound everyone to everyone else. They were all in this together. The reminder of that flooded into her as soon as she thought it. Only seconds later, the opening notes exploded into the room as the audience fell silent.

The beginning of _Earth_ was almost the opposite of _The Night Vigil_ —screechy strings almost on their own to simulate something like launching into space, which cut out suddenly, replaced by a slow, sweeping build of sound that carried more and more instruments with it, pulsing, ethereal. A dark, midnight blue that faded into purple before the astronaut turned around to see an explosion of green, blue, brown, white. It was life, peace, longsuffering, love. The feeling, she imagined, of a parent watching their child emerge into the world. Ren’s saxophone rang out as the astronaut established herself over the earth, building gradually with the woodwinds and Tomo before they all cut out again, partially repeating the cycle. She let it overwhelm her, replacing the fear that had threatened to constrain her. And then—not until nearly halfway through the movement—she walked into the space they created, her fingers sweeping over the keys, talking to herself, to them.

The dark space in her eyes became a swirl of color. She thought of the painting hung at the back of the stage, now exposed to the audience, and was glad for its presence. For all of theirs. Like a shield between herself and any prying eyes that would tear her away. She felt their breath, their heartbeats, their will, their love. The color changed shape and form as the parts she’d written brought their faces and colors to her mind, one by one.

And then, suddenly, the astronaut fell. 

The second movement was _Sea_ —grey, blue-green, swirls of dark red and black that shot through as she released the fear she’d held back, that she’d held back far longer than this evening, since she’d found out that STARISH was disbanding. Fear, loss, being left. It churned, pulling on her. She swam, clutching a lifeboat, alternating and entwining around the brass and high strings and woodwinds that crashed against each other for several impossibly long seconds—

The final movement followed almost before the second had ended. The astronaut looked up from the waves for just a moment, remembering sky. And then, there was a fall. The sounds stilled again, a low valley of cellos and bass that gradually climbed until everything was calm again, still moving, and the third movement, _Stars_ , entered into the long motif that would end the piece. Here, she had split the time signatures again, half on a slow march, the other half tentative, watchful, hopeful amidst the longing and wistfulness of the first two movements that wrapped around each other in a combination of the first two motifs, which built onto the third in a harmony that was invisible until they all came together. This was their portrait, she thought: emergence, fear, hope. Past, present, future. This was what she’d wanted to say. A sense of closure flooded through her as she stepped into the final lines of piano, and the strings closed around her, and all that was left were stars.

When they were finished, she bent over the piano, her hands and arms shaking, releasing the tension she felt in her legs and abdomen as the audience erupted into applause. After a moment, she heard it from behind her as well, along with her name as she realized her friends were cheering as well. Then she stood, folding back the blindfold, and walked to center stage. Tokiya, the only one who was standing, beamed at her, wrapping her in a giant hug.

Soon, her friends were setting their instruments down and joining her. She had to remember after a moment to turn around and acknowledge the audience—when she waved at them, along with her friends, they cheered, and she felt herself blush scarlet.

Then, they were filing off. No one wanted to be the last to leave. Ren was one of the last, and looked back at her as Tokiya followed him out.

For a moment, she remained there, alone toward the back, watching the audience begin to settle, some collecting their things. 

What happened next was something she was not able to explain.

Suddenly, with a force of certainty like she’d felt only once in her life, a deep, overwhelming need gripped her like a vice and she walked around the set. When she returned to the piano, the audience was still clapping.

The first notes exploded out of her. She didn’t even realize what she was doing until she was almost a minute deep in Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# minor, the notes flying out in an arrangement she’d never heard before. A dim part of her mind registered that she was playing at almost double the tempo, adding and mixing notes and feelings on the fly until it was barely even the original. 

The audience went silent, but she couldn’t hear.

She had more to say. She emptied herself. It was a short piece—when she reached the final climb, she raced down the other side, holding there as long as she could, before she reached the end, cut out, and stood. 

The audience was silent for a moment. Then, they erupted. People who had been on their way out the door had stopped in their tracks, standing in the halls, handing coats to partners and the backs of chairs, twice as loud and fervent, it seemed, as they had been before. For a moment, she let them express themselves, grounding herself once again in her body as the waves of adrenaline ebbed out of her. 

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not fxking kidding. PleasE comment. Kudos are lovely, but comments makes my LIFE._
> 
> _It's my little tradition to post the final chapter and the epilogue at the same time. So one more week, then we're done._
> 
> _Literally please comment if you're enjoying this, or even if you're not ~_


	10. Allargando

The part of him that had had his hopes up that she would be theirs— _his_ —after the concert was quickly dashed when the talent manager only allowed her a couple of minutes backstage before ushering her out into the foyer to greet patrons. In that time, she’d been surrounded—he’d been on the wrong side of the crowd of musicians when they swarmed her, hugging her, as disbelieving as he felt. He _hadn’t_ been on the wrong side of the crowd to get back to the stage as she whipped out that final piece. They’d squeezed into the gap between the walls, trying to see her. He watched, holding the others back from walking out onto the stage again. This was her moment. If she’d done this, the world needed to see only her.

But then the crowd had moved, some following her and Minami down the hall, others dispersing to grab their instruments before doing the same. He followed. She was in one-sided conversation with Minami and a couple he vaguely recognized but didn’t care to place when he strode up to them, took Haruka’s wrist, pulled her to him, and kissed her.

There were gasps from all around them. He ignored them, wrapping an arm around her back as he held her face to his. After a moment, he felt the surprise ebb out of her as she braced a hand on his shoulder, rising onto her tiptoes. He held her for a moment before he released her only enough to touch his forehead to hers.

“You are a masterpiece,” he said, only to her, smiling as she flushed pink.

“I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Excuse me—”

Haruka turned, and he lifted his head to see something like indignation on Minami’s face, offset by a pair of knowing smiles from the couple they had been talking with. After a moment, he felt a startle of recognition—the man was Aikawa Soiichiro, of Ascalon Holdings, the media conglomerate—and the woman, his wife, beautiful for her age in a black and gold, Chinese-style dress was Okada Sayoko, the renowned concert pianist and the creative director of Divine Agency.

At that realization, the relief he felt at finding Haruka, his elation over her performance, all of it was replaced by anger, the force of which surprised him until the letter flashed in his mind again. He saw her look around at the shocked faces that he knew surrounded them, and his hand slipped to her wrist, then her hand as her fingers curled around his.

“Please excuse me, but Haruka is needed with us,” he said, only noticing the slip a moment too late—but some part of his mind registered Sayoko chide Minami good-naturedly as they turned and walked quickly away. 

_—“It’s only fair, Yoko. She’s been with Divine most of the day. She won’t come to us if you coerce her into it.”_

He felt a flush of satisfaction. Haruka glanced back over her shoulder, skipping a little—he slowed his pace, but didn’t stop.

“Ren, where are we going?”

He didn’t say anything until they had almost reached the door, when he slowed, releasing her hand.

“I can’t bear to share you right now. Please allow me this.”

After a moment, she smiled, and nodded. “I would like that,” she said, only to him.

Masato had been at the door, and he crossed the short distance, handing Ren a black case he recognized as his saxophone. “I took the liberty of calling your car,” he said.

Ren looked at him, not sure at all what to say. 

“Thank you.”

Masato nodded once. “Take care. Both of you.” He walked past them. “The car will be here in a few minutes. I will buy you as much time as I can.”

× × × × ×

Outside, they were alone—or nearly, which he realized when he caught Haruka turn to a couple a few yards away, making out enthusiastically against the wall.

“Kanako-chan,” she said to herself. He glanced at them—the man was Yamato, and he vaguely remembered that the two of them had always been at each other in practice. But that wasn’t interesting to him right now.

He slid a hand around the back of Haruka’s head, kissing her once, twice. He felt a jolt as she reached a hand into his jacket, barely touching his side.

Sure enough, it was less than a minute before the car came. It took him a second or two to realize it was Seiichirou’s—if it had come this quickly, that must have meant his brother was here tonight. Mercifully, however, the car was empty, as he found when he held the door open for Haruka and followed her in. Quickly, he told the driver where to go, then slid the window shut.

She watched him climb in, her eyes wide. He tipped up her chin, kissing her again. This time, she turned into him, holding herself as close as she could, gripping the fabric of his jacket above his elbow. 

Time seemed to slow around them. The movements of the car, awkward at first, faded into the background until it was no longer possible to tell them apart from Haruka shifting against him. He ran his tongue against her lips, and when she opened her mouth, he swept into it, his teeth running along her lip. He braced his arm around the back of the seat—

The car stopped. Disoriented, he broke away, glancing out the window to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. When he confirmed they were, they stepped out, and he nodded at Seiichirou’s driver. The car pulled away. He produced the card that would let him into the side entrance of his building, avoiding the doorman—Haruka was holding herself, and he tucked her into his side before unlocking the door. Her hair had come a little undone, but for the most part, she looked as radiant as she had all evening. 

Inside, when she could see there was no one in the entry, she turned to him again, placing a hand on his chest, and he kissed her as they waited for the elevator. They kissed all the way up, too, until they alighted on the uppermost floor—the elevator opened in the middle of a marble hallway with only two doors, one on each side. He led her to the door on the right, holding it open for her.

She walked inside, and a hand flew to her mouth. “Ren—”

His hand slid under hers, dislodging it, and he kissed her again, sighing into her mouth when her hand slipped into his hair. He knew what she was seeing, and the thought thrilled him. “Later, Honey, I promise,” he said against her mouth. He felt her nod. He led her through, opening a second door to the main part of the flat. When it fell closed behind her, it took everything in him not to push her up against it and take her there.

His room was at the back. It took an inordinately long time to get there. They’d make it a few feet, and then he’d push her against a piece of furniture, or she’d pull him to her, leaning against the wall. He braced a hand against it, the other around her back as he kissed down her neck, his tongue dipping into the skin against her collarbone. She had her fingers through the waistband of his slacks, holding him to her. The heat of her around him was almost too much. He stepped back only enough to push open the door to his room, leading her in. The lights had come on automatically, a soft glow not much brighter than candlelight.

They were still wearing too much clothing. Her dress was complicated, tight to her back and arms thanks to some kind of elastic material. When he skimmed down the back and sides, trying to find the zipper, she ducked her head out from behind the strip of cloth that had held up the sleeves. He shed his jacket, but she didn’t let the dress fall completely away until she’d unbuttoned his shirt. Without the extra height from her shoes, her lips ghosted against his chest, her breath a whisper. 

He watched her as she went, his fingers barely grazing the skin of her back. The dress draped like a cowl down her front. When she finished, he tugged on her sleeves. The dress pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it, and he tossed his shirt away.

Then she crouched down, her hands sliding down his front, and he felt his whole body tighten as he watched her undo his slacks, sliding them off along with his underwear. He stepped out of them. She ran her hand down his length, following slowly with her tongue. 

He shuddered. He felt her lips curve up as he twitched involuntarily against her mouth, and he gripped at her shoulder with every stroke of her tongue. When her hand pushed against the inside of his leg, he backpedaled half a step until he braced against the bed. His hands were white-knuckled in the sheets.

She smiled against him, taking him in both hands, now. Wetting her fingers on her tongue, she ran small circles across his perineum with one hand, and with the other pulled his foreskin back just enough to encircle the tip with her tongue in a long, round stroke. He jerked again in her hands. Her grip tightened a fraction. She repeated the motion, taking more of him in her mouth.

_“Haruka—”_

Her breath against him was hot and humid. She allowed herself one final stroke with her tongue before stood again, kissing her way back up, exhaling over his stomach and chest. When she reached his neck, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the bed as he invaded her mouth again, tasting himself on her. His erection pushed against her hip. 

She wanted to take him apart. He could feel it. But now wasn’t the time. Tonight had _been_ her, and it would _keep_ being her. He could never make her _feel_ what he’d felt tonight, but he could show her as best he could in the language that he knew only she knew.

She was still wearing the blindfold. He slid it over her eyes. She let him.

She bared her neck to him. He took several breaths, carefully controlling his exhale. With one hand, he held her head, the other braced underneath her between the sheets and her skin. 

He kissed up her neck, her jaw, biting gently against her pulse in a way that made her buck into the bed as he hooked a finger through her underwear, pulling them to her knees in one quick stroke. She kicked them free. 

A single stroke of his fingers across her folds was the only warning he gave before he slid his fingers into her and she gasped, throwing her head back, letting out a little moan. With two fingers, he worked her open the way she liked. His fingers crooked forward inside her, a thumb thoroughly wet from where she dripped on him rubbing across her clit. He added a third finger, kissing her throat, his hand flexing, his fingers running down both sides of her clitoris, then over the center in small circles—

 _“Ren,”_ she breathed out. He felt her shudder, and he pressed down with his weight against her leg, pinning her there as she broke against him, one hand tight in the folds of his sheets, the other balling into a fist against his back. He felt her fingers around the back of the hand that was on her head—but when she went to remove the blindfold, he withdrew his hand from her, holding both of her wrists.

“Not yet, My Lady.”

“I want to see you,” she said, breathless.

He ran his nose against the underside of her jaw, his lips brushing her skin. “Don’t you already?”

“All I see is white.”

He felt a hot _thrum_ run through him from head to toe. He released her wrists, and she held his arm as he kissed down her chest, stopping only to remove the strapless black bra she was still wearing. She lifted her chest, and he tossed it aside, holding one of her breasts as he ran his tongue across it, nipping the place he knew was sensitive so that she squeaked a bit and jerked into him.

He lifted her onto the bed, then. He ran his hands down her sides, over her hips and down, exhaling over the sensitive skin inside her hipbone. He held her leg gently open and she bucked into his hand, trying to bring him closer. She had her hand around the back of his neck as he trailed kisses along the inside of her thigh. He felt her fingers tense. 

He gave a long stroke with his tongue. The hand on his shoulder flew to his head, urging him deeper inside her. He smiled a little against her and obliged. 

First he was around her folds, his tongue as deep as he could go before he ran it down the back of her clit, circling a few times before he latched on with his lips. He kissed her core like he would her mouth, then sucked on her again, alternating.

She whined above him. He had an arm braced over her leg, under her back, and he pressed down with that arm, keeping her from bucking up as he sucked harder. Every few pulls, he’d break and run or swirl his tongue across her clit. Her toes were curled against his leg and the edge of the bed, her fingers in a white-knuckled fist against the arm that was braced under her. She whined and mewled again and again.

 _Sing, my love,_ he thought.

Her gasp was half scream when he drew out her climax a second time. As he felt her release, he pulled his hand from beneath her and held open her leg, wiping everything away with his tongue. When she stilled again, he ran his hand over his mouth, wiping most of the wetness away. His eyes widened a fraction as she managed to grab his wrist, even blindfolded, and draw it to her lips. With her thumb on the back of his hand, she ran her tongue over the tips of his fingers, and he felt the light press of her teeth. 

He kissed her throat as he lifted back the blindfold. It had almost worked free of her hair, and she pulled the remaining pins out, tossing it to the side.

When she pulled him back to her, he followed. She ran her tongue across his lower lip and he let her in. Both of her hands in his hair, now, she kissed him, running her tongue across his teeth, his tongue, one hand lowering to brace against his back. He met her, holding her face, turning her to him, biting softly on her lip so she opened her mouth further. 

Breaking free for a moment, he withdrew a condom from his nightstand and wrapped himself, crawling back over her when she attempted to sit up. He held her back down, lining up against her. She held a hand against his underside as he submerged himself in her to the hilt. She turned them sideways, hooking a leg over his hips, holding his chest against hers. With one hand, he held her leg in place. The other curled around her shoulder, under her body, relishing the feel of her skin. She kissed him as they found their rhythm, her body moving against his, until his climax broke and he held her tightly to him, _burying_ himself in her at his release, both of them breathing hard. 

“I love you.” 

His hand moved into her hair. Her fingers wrapped around his, lacing through them.

“I love you,” she said, and he opened his eyes to find her smiling. “I know that now.”

He curled their fingers together.

× × × × ×

The next morning, he awoke to the feel of her stirring in the bed. He wrapped an arm around her stomach, holding her to him.

“Stay here,” he said into her hair.

She touched his arm, laughing a little as she said, “I’ll be right back,” climbing out of bed. He saw her look around for a moment, then make her way to the bathroom. When she came back, he curled around her from behind, and she rested a hand on the arm he had wrapped around her side, settling into him.

“This place is beautiful,” she said, running her fingers down his forearm, then back up. It was very soothing. “Is it yours?”

“Mmmh.” He adjusted her closer, turning partway onto his back so that her back was fully against his chest. “Later, I’ll show you around my favorite part.”

“You mean this isn’t it?” 

“It’s certainly competitive now.”

He breathed in the soft smell of her from her hair. After a moment, she turned over so she was facing him.

“I got your message yesterday.”

He took her hand and kissed it, looking at her, hoping she understood his meaning. “Not just today, Honey. Every day that I can.”

She freed her hand, sliding it into his hair. Then she was kissing him, and she felt her nod against his lips before he pulled her fully on top of him, relishing the gentle weight of her, the pressure where her breasts touched his chest. She began to move against him, and he quickly found himself growing hard. He wrapped an arm around her lower back, encouraging her on as she rubbed against him, stimulating both of them. He watched her. Her eyes were closed. Her face became rapturous.

She slid on top of him, lowering herself to his chest again, knees bent at either side as he gently pushed in. She finished herself off quickly before doing the same for him, her hands roving up his body. As he came, he kissed her, turning them over so that he was on top as they both stilled. He laid his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. She ran her fingers through his hair.

When they finally got up, he made his way to the shower, and she followed him, staying there, unable to keep their hands off each other, until the water began to run cool. She didn’t have any clothes to change into, so he lent her some of his. It was massively cute when she had to roll the waistband up several times to keep the pants from dragging on the floor. 

He prepared their breakfast, remembering her coffee midway through. Occasionally, he glanced over at her while she roamed around his flat—the open, almost Western-style space belied the size, and when she’d finished making her way around, she climbed onto one of the cushions he’d set up in one of two deep, almost tunnel-like windows toward the door. His building was set into a hill, and those were his favorite views. When he was done, he joined her, balancing two plates along with her coffee.

“I love this,” she said as he sat down, stretching his legs across from hers as much as the space would allow. 

“I’ll get you a key,” he said. She colored a bit. 

“So soon?”

“I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

Her blush deepened. She held her coffee to her lips, taking a tentative sip. Bellagio had taught him to make it when he’d spent the summer in Italy prior to starting at the academy. At the time, it had been the only thing he’d been appreciative to leave with.

She looked like she was about to say something when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Ordinarily, he’d have ignored it. But it was the pattern that meant there was someone at his door. He thought about ignoring it anyway.

“What is it?”

“There’s someone here, apparently. I’ll tell them to come back later.”

She nodded. He set his plate down, checking his phone as he unlocked the door that let out into the atrium. When Saotome’s face looked back at him from the camera, he closed it behind him. 

He’d known this would happen. It was an outcome he’d counted on, in fact. Maybe not this soon—but Shining had eyes everywhere, and always had. Another reason he was glad to be getting out from under this.

 _“Jinguji Ren,”_ the man said when he opened the main door, stepping out into the hall, closing that door as well. “I believe you know why I’m here.”

Ren nodded.

“Your one rule.”

 _“No love,”_ Shining said in English.

There was a pause as Shining assessed him. His mind raced. Over the years, the rule had come to be applied less and less consistently—the glaring exception of Tomo and Otoya, many had taken as a sign of sorts, and Natsuki had been quietly bringing men back to his room for over a year, Cecil, too, both men and women. Sometimes, they brought each other. There was a possibility Shining didn’t know, but he doubted it. For his part, that had long been part of how he’d been assessing who was still holding out for Haruka. He known he hadn’t been the only one doing so even though it was never discussed. 

This was a test of some kind. He was their master, in many ways, but he was also their teacher. Despite the way he’d trapped them, he’d also taught them well.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll tell you what I told Tokiya,” he said. “Break things off with her, or you’re _fired._ ”

From his spot against the wall, Ren studied the former idol over crossed arms. Something was off. His many years of tutelage had taught him that what Shining was saying never stopped at his actual words. He’d said that intentionally. It was intended to catch him off guard. 

When it dawned on him, he met his boss’s eyes through his dark glasses, calling his bluff. “Unlike what you did to Tokiya, you can’t hold STARISH over me. And unlike him, I won’t give her up for anything.” 

It was her. It had always been her. Shining pointed at him, his glasses flashing with the movement. 

_“That is your choice.”_

“Effective when?” he shot back, smirking a bit. 

Shining returned the expression, only much broader. “I have no intention of stopping you from playing the _final concerrrt,_ Jinguji. I am _many things,_ but I am not a liar.”

This threw him. Shining threw his head back, laughing his bellowing laugh, his hands on his hips. “Your composer will compose for STARISH again. She has proved herself.” He turned to go, looking back at him over his shoulder. “The question is, _Jinguji_ , will you?”

× × × × ×

When he returned inside, Haruka was still in the window, only her plate was empty.

“I didn’t wait,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to get cold.”

“No. Don’t be. I’m glad you didn’t.”

She looked at him for a moment. 

“Was it Shining?”

He nodded.

“I heard him laugh,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

Her voice was quiet. She probably already knew the answer. Still, he said, “He fired me.”

_“What?”_

He paused, not answering immediately. He retrieved their plates, taking them back to the kitchen to wrap his. Haruka followed. She had her arms wrapped around herself, the look on her face just this side of panic.

“Ren, if this is my fault, we don’t have to continue—”

She cut herself off when he looked at her, what he thought of that notion clear on his face. “I’ve waited four years for this. Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.”

It was a little unfair of him. He knew that. And he knew she knew what he meant, as evidenced by the look of recognition that spread over her face. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out about her and Tokiya, not after how he’d been when they started the second leg of their first tour. It was as though the life had been sucked out of him. He’d put the pieces together quickly. It had been a blow, but it hadn’t been entirely a surprise, and even then he’d been able to see Tokiya’s logic—he’d wanted to get to her first.

For his own part, he’d wanted to wait until there was nothing in the way. It was a risk. A _huge_ risk. And when he’d seen her again, the threat of losing his place in STARISH no longer a factor, and learned she somehow, unbelievably, hadn’t been scooped up yet, he hadn’t been able to stop himself any longer. It was as much luck as patience that had led them to where they were now.

He put his food away, giving Haruka a chance to think about what he’d said. When he turned to her again, she was holding her hand to her lips in that familiar gesture of hers.

“Do you mind if we walk? There’s something I want to show you.”

It took her a moment, but she nodded. He reached out for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

He led her out into the atrium, watching the tension in her face ebb out as she took in the room. The ceiling was thick, shatterproof glass, tinted slightly to keep the room from getting too hot, and light poured in from the east-facing wall. It was nearly as big as his flat, divided into sections by region. They walked through slowly. The scent of sweet grasses was heady in the air, mixed with occasional flowers. It was late in the season for many of the spring blooms, but Haruka ran her finger along the underside of a Bird of Paradise in the East Indies, and he smiled even though she couldn’t see. 

An artificial stream ran parallel to one wall, always keeping the room a little humid. Under the dark shale floor, it led into a small fountain at the center of the room, surrounded by low, pillar-like trees. It was full of koi. She watched them. He slid his arm around her side, tucking her into him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. She looked up at him. “Did you make all this?”

“I designed it. And I tend it, when I’m here.”

“By yourself?”

“I have a gardener.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said again.

He ran the tip of his nose along her ear. “What’s mine is yours, if you’ll have me.”

She stilled, then relaxed into his touch as he held her around her middle, her back pressed to his chest. 

“Momo will eat your fish.”

There was a smile in her voice. “If she can reach them. She might fall in if she tries.”

“They might eat her,” she said through a laugh.

They left the pond, passing through a hall lined with twisting branches that needed to be trimmed a bit. Around the corner, she took a step ahead of him—he let her lead him. Her fingers flew to her mouth.

“Ren,” she said.

The room was lined with roses. The air was sweet with the smell of them—dozens of varieties and colors, many of them his own cultivars. He watched her take them in, her whole body turning as she did so. Once, when he’d been showier, less mature, he’d lined a room with them for her, similarly to this. Now, he produced one for her—a variety that grew without thorns, and she took the stem in her hand as he tipped up her face and kissed her, gently, mindful not to crush it.

Back then, he’d wanted her to be his composer. She’d become that, but not as he’d expected—he didn’t regret his time with STARISH in the least, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her and them as the same entity. In the meantime, that feeling had remained. 

When he pulled back, he searched her. She was smiling. Her hand had worked its way around the back of his neck, and she slid it down his front. 

Shining had called her his composer. It was selfish, but part of him wanted that, even though he couldn’t ask that of her. But there was something else he could do. 

“My Lady,” he said, threading his fingers through her hand. “Will you compose with me?”


	11. Tempo Primo

The stadium was dark. Even the lights at side stage had been cut. There, Haruka stood in her usual place—in the shadow of one of the supports, invisible to the audience but able to see everyone onstage. All around her were the breeze of the stadium, an ocean of fans’ whispers, the physical presence of the clipboard she held to her chest with crossed arms. _It’s starting to get cold,_ she thought. Fall would be coming early this year.

At the outer edge of the blackness behind her eyes was an aura of deep green. It was anticipation—she was waiting. 

“And, _now_ ,” she heard from somewhere behind her.

There was a low, thrumming synth pulse, followed by another. Shimmering guitars rang out on top of it. She smiled. Less than a second later, a flutter of silvery light danced through the audience like a swarm of fireflies, synced exactly to the notes of the guitar.

There were screams. Haruka smiled, fighting the urge to cover her ears. Everyone in the audience had been given a luminescent wand when they’d entered—some of the stagehands held them as well, and she glanced over at them, watching their faces become lit with the flickering light.

A few seconds later, a steady bass line began to pound out through the synth. She looked across the stage to the other wing, where Ranmaru was already beginning to play outside of the audience’s sight, and then out into the crowd. The lights began to pulse, a steady rhythm. The bass kicked up. The lights began bouncing around, pinged by tracking devices programmed to certain patterns based on where a person was standing. But to anyone in the crowd, they looked like what they were.

Music.

After about thirty seconds, she felt a gust of wind behind her. What seemed like a dark cavern of stagespace was actually a massive door, which yawned open as white spotlights lit the platform from below. Smoke hazed past, making the lights flicker. The guitar picked up, along with the synth—then a roar of brass rang out over the crowd, the lights pulsing over the five sections of the arena, followed by a chorus of voices.

The seven of them walked out in an inverted V: the Tagami twins came first, one on each side of the stage, their long white hair practically merging with the smoke until they were joined, successively, by Rika and Emiko, Tomoka and Koyama Hiroko, and finally, Ayumi at the top, her searing alto ringing through the others like a bell. Rika winked at Haruka. Then the lights clapped, revealing the rest of CADENZA standing on platforms that slowly lowered to the ground.

“They look so good,” Haruka said into her headset. All twelve of them were dressed entirely in white—everyone except the Tagami twins had streaks of it added into their hair. It was their theme for the evening.

“They definitely stole that from us,” she heard someone say into the communal channel, recognizing the voice as Nagi after a moment. 

“It’s not like it’s proprietary,” someone else from HEAVENS—Eiji?—corrected. It was hard to tell who was speaking over the radio, and she had to listen very carefully.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Nagi shot back.

“Kanako wanted my place. I told her she could have it.”

“Both of you, that’s enough,” came Minami’s voice.

 _“Yes ma’am,”_ they answered simultaneously, in varying tones of sincerity.

Every single note played that evening was live. It had been the bands’ idea—in the days following her debut, representatives from STARISH, QUARTET NIGHT, HEAVENS, CADENZA, and HONEY BIRD had all come to her on different occasions with the same proposition: to send STARISH out with a fully live concert, no recordings, which all of them would help play. QUARTET NIGHT, who were on hiatus, would contribute instruments but not perform. And thus it had become. In their place was Tomo, who tapped Haruka on the shoulder and winked as the drumline kicked in—she caught glimpses of CADENZA’s choreography as she turned, light from the stagehands’ wands flickering against the silver of her former roommate’s cropped stage top and leggings.

“That’s my cue,” she said, adjusting her mic. “Stay out of trouble, you two.” 

As Tomo walked off, Ren’s arm tightened around her waist, and she blushed as he slid the headset from her ears. His own was already around his neck. 

“What’s that about staying out of trouble?” He said into her ear. “That sounds boring.”

“Ren!” Her hand to his chest, she pushed slightly, and he grinned, releasing her, but not before stealing a kiss. She re-situated the headset on her ears, holding her hand over the microphone. “Stay here, though. I’m cold.”

“My Lady.” He crossed his arms over her middle. She settled into his chest.

“Aren’t you two adorable.”

“Jealous, Mikado?” Ren quipped back. She could hear the smile in his voice, wholly un-ironic, followed by several jibes she couldn’t discern. She felt Ren’s laugh against her back. 

Onstage, the two halves of CADENZA were joining together in two semicircles. The transition was coming up. She felt excitement rile up in her. And then, smooth as silk, one song extended out into the next. The tempo switched beats. Around the arena and around the stagehands’ necks, flashes of magenta pulsed.

Haruka could barely keep form jumping up and down as Tomo marched out between the two halves of CADENZA, glittering like a disco ball. A couple of weeks prior, she’d been featured on CADENZA’s most recent single—which had knocked HEAVENS out of the top spot they had been holding since the release of their first single from their latest record, only a few days after the debut. She frowned slightly at the thought— _is that what Nagi is bitter about—?_

Ren’s arms tightened around her. He pressed down firmly on her shoulder, muting the microphone on the toggle. When she realized it, she turned around. 

“Careful, Honey. Or you’ll only be watching me.”

“Hm—?” 

She met his eyes, which were searing, and cut herself off. He pressed her hip between his legs, where he was half-hard against the curve of her behind. 

“Oh! I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. Just save it for later.” He touched her lip. “You _are_ coming home with me, right?”

“I finished moving the last of my things in this morning.”

“Not alone, I hope?” 

“No. Minami and Michiko insisted on helping.” He was holding her fully against him, now, and she touched her forehead to his. “…And Ikumi-chan.”

“Terrifying.”

“She likes to keep track of me.”

He tipped her chin up and kissed her. She kissed him back.

“I want to watch the performance,” she said through a laugh.

“Aren’t you?”

“You’re not performing.”

He released her, but only to let her turn around.

“No. Certainly not.”

She switched her headset back on. 

_“How can I bear to be without you?!”_

_“Just steal me off into the sunset and take me—Oh, Haruka—”_

_“We’ll start off slow, and later go wild—”_

She blushed. Nagi and Reiji were going off each other.

“Haruka, good of you to join us again,” Minami intoned.

“Where are we?” Haruka asked.

“CADENZA is about to go off. Tomo’s solo piece.”

“Which is my cue to leave, Honey,” Ren answered in her ear. “We’re on after her.”

She held her hand over the microphone. “I’ll be watching.”

“Don’t take your eyes off me.”

He handed his headset to an embarrassed-looking stagehand, who exchanged it with his microphone. When she caught Haruka’s eyes, they both blushed. Haruka turned back around.

CADENZA were filing off as the song transitioned, their dance entourage getting into position, and Haruka watched her friend ease seamlessly into the next song as the lights on the stage changed color, going from magenta to yellow and white. She’d seen a handful of Tomo’s performances over the years—she didn’t tour as much as STARISH or QUARTET NIGHT, but whenever she did, she sold out stadiums. For several minutes, Haruka just watched, silent despite the chatter over the communal channel. The dancers folded around Tomo. At the top of the bridge, she was at the very edge of the stage’s main catwalk, leaning out over the audience—there was a significant barrier between them, but she still managed to touch a few hands as sparklers lit up behind her after a towering high note. 

“How did she hit that without falling off the stage?” Someone asked into her headset. She was so transfixed that she wasn’t able to tell who it was, but it sounded like Eiji.

“Because she has more talent than you and me put together.”

“Speak for yourself, Kotobuki,” Nagi shot back.

“I didn’t say anything about you, _Naachan._ ”

Haruka laughed into her headset. Tomo was hitting her final notes—a powerful blast that sent a wave of gold through the audience before the sparklers showered her with light.

She bowed. There was a long fade into silence. The stage went dark along with it, the only light in the arena the thousands of glowing wands swimming through the audience.

Six familiar figures had taken their places at the stage’s edges, invisible from the crowd thanks to thick smoke. One final person waited in the back, near the entrance— _Ittoki-kun_ , she realized as she caught a glimpse of Tomo high-fiving him, followed by a quick gesture that probably only meant anything to them. 

The arena went silent. So did the communal channel. All that could be heard was the roar of the audience, and a familiar chant—

_STARISH! STARISH! STARISH!_

It grew to a crescendo. She saw the figure second to the stage looked back at her and winked.

_STARISH! STARISH!—_

“Here we go—”

White stagelights cut on between each of them, illuminating their silhouettes through the smoke. And then—

_“2000%—Saikoo na LOVE—Hajimaru yo—Yes! Happy LIVE—”_

Their second single. She’d remixed it slightly, but it was more or less the same. Between each verse, two colored lights across the stage from one another lit up, tinting their silhouettes in their respective colors.

“Hey, Kotobuki, why aren’t you back there on drums?” A new voice inquired. _Van_ , Haruka realized. There wasn’t any brass until later in the set. The channel was buzzing with low voices in the background—a few members of CADENZA had joined as well.

“That prodigy of CADENZA’s took my place,” Reiji lamented. “She far outpaces me.”

“Emiko-chan outpaces everyone,” came Ayumi’s voice. 

“Except you, _Naachan._ ”

“Just because I’m of age doesn’t mean you can sexually harass me with impunity.”

“ _Harass_ you?—I would never.”

“I thought she was on guitar?” Asked Tagami Sayuri of CADENZA, changing the subject back.

“That’s later—”

Haruka shut her headset off. She walked toward the edge of the area that was obscured by shadow, her arms folded over her clipboard. She tipped it back enough to glance at it—not that she needed to. It was a set list, and she’d made it herself. Onstage, they were getting to the part of the song where they were all on different parts of the catwalk, dozens of white-clad dancers of both sexes interspersed between them. That was new for them. Their last tour had been the first time they’d used dancers, borrowing a note from Tomo— _no surprise there_ , Haruka thought. She and Otoya had begun dating between their second and third international tours.

As they filed around her boys, she watched each of them, gaging herself. She loved them all dearly. Still, an ache pulled at her heart—several aches, if she was being honest with herself, even though she was also genuinely excited for each of them in turn. Besides their disbanding, Cecil was leaving; Tokiya made her sad in general, and had for a long time, ever since what had happened between them. She’d never quite felt comfortable with him again after that. And now, he was putting distance between them out of respect for her relationship. It was the right thing to do for both of them, but it still made her sad to think that’s all that they had come to.

Songs changed, and changed again, and the seven of them moved through their set, rainbows of various intensities and focal colors pulsing out over the audience, whose screams only grew louder. Still, STARISH gave her hope. She found herself watching Ren longer than the others, following him with her eyes as he made his way down the catwalk suspended in the center of the stage, rapping his part of one of their more recent songs. That was also new, something they’d picked up from a few bands over on the continent—that too had been Otoya’s idea, but to everyone’s surprise, including his, Ren was the one with a natural aptitude for it.

She was so transfixed by them that she barely realized it when, far past the halfway mark, someone pressed something into her hand. It was a water bottle. She turned to look beside her—Tomo towered over her in her stage shoes and had uncapped her own bottle, following Haruka’s line of sight out over the stage.

“Tomo-chan. You were amazing.”

“Don’t go passing out on me,” came her response, her wide smile evident in her voice. “Best part hasn’t even happened yet, from what I’ve heard.”

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask about that.” 

“Oh? You made the set lists—if not you than who?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” Haruka said through a laugh.

Tomo turned to her. She had a streak of glittery makeup across one side of her face, and it caught the light when she turned, making it look like a mask. She put on the most serious face she could manage.

“Nanami Haruka. I want information that only you can provide, none of this _nothing_ bullshit.”

They were nearing the end of the song. Haruka glanced at her set list—after this song was the second guest performance. She switched on her headset, but kept the microphone off.

“Tomo-chan, _language_ ,” she chided, meaning none of it. “Did you ask Minami?”

The channel was mostly silent, now. Tomo rolled her eyes. “You know as well as I do how far _that_ will get me, Ms. Assistant Creative Director.”

Haruka’s eyes shot open. _“How—”_

Tomo was laughing, now, as she watched them finish. She tapped Haruka’s head.

“That’s two secrets, _Lovely_. At this rate you’ll owe me lunch.”

“ _Ariadne_ , Wednesday at 2?” She called at her retreating back.

“I’ll be there,” she called, waving behind her.

Haruka smiled. She glanced at her set list again, mostly out of habit this time. There was nothing suggestive on it, but she’d been holding it close all evening just in case. The song transitioned—all guitar, since all of their synth players were on stage or busy, but Emiko was flawless. Reiji had taken her place at the drums, clapping eight beats on the high hat—

Pulses of blue shot out over the audience like a heartbeat, shuddering with the distortion as the bassline joined the guitar. The audience _screamed._

“That’s the loudest they’ve been all evening,” she heard Ayumi say into the communal channel. 

“Can you blame them?” Rika answered. 

Haruka switched her mic back on. “This is their last chance,” she concurred.

“For STARISH, maybe. Not for HEAVENS.”

The channel went silent, then, and Haruka’s heart picked up. It was just as well—the arena was so loud that it was difficult to hear anything besides the song that was starting.

Blue and white pulses at sidestage thrummed with the bassline for a couple of measures. Then, a white groundlight flooded the back, illuminating Eiji, Shion, and Nagi at the front, the latter leading the three of them through their choreography down the main part of the stage—Haruka clapped her hands over her earphones, holding her clipboard awkwardly to her chest with an elbow. There were a few cheers over the communal channel.

_“Get it, Mikado!”_

At the next lyric, light flooded the stage from above, where Yamato, Kira, and Van, each on a different suspended catwalk, made their way toward the center, where Van waved a finger and dancers, previously invisible thanks to some sort of cloaking technology in their suits, coalesced around them. Several of them grabbed at Van, pulling him into them. When one draped an arm over his chest, he ran a hand down his face.

“That’s really hot,” came Rika’s voice over the channel.

“Don’t let father catch you saying that, _Riichan_ ,” Tomoka teased back.

“What? He’s not here.”

Hamamoto Asami growled a bit into the channel. “All of you, _shh_!”

The Sonoda sisters giggled, along with a few others. Eiichi was sitting, kinglike, in a massive chair at the back of the stage, surrounded by dancers—halfway through his line, he stood, making his way down the dais with them, joining the others in the middle of the stage for the chorus. Someone clapped so loud she could hear it through her headset. The next line was Yamato’s—there was a clap out of the chorus as one of the dancers yanked his shirt away, and he slithered out from his bandmates, strutting down the catwalk until he was practically over the audience, only stepping back when Kira joined him after several lines at the pre-chorus. Yamato clapped a hand on his back as he hit a note Haruka didn’t know he could hit.

“ _Saints_ , I want to be that cool one day,” Tagami Shiori hummed.

“ _Saints?_ You sound like Minami,” her twin answered through a laugh.

“I like to think I’m a positive influence,” Minami answered.

“Minami-chan, I didn’t realize you were listening!”

Minami laughed. They were shifting into the bridge, and everyone went silent again. Eiichi had the bridge—and at least five dancers wrapped around him—he held the microphone, belting out a note that garnered gasps and whistles around the channel before the dancers all scattered, weaving through HEAVENS for the final pass. Before they’d finished, there were claps and cheers through the channel. 

And then the music suddenly transitioned, and HEAVENS disappeared through dancers parted down the middle in two blocks into the sidestage as the spotlights at the gateway shifted, revealing HONEY BIRD at the top of the dias, all of them impossibly tall. The cheers over the communal channel doubled in volume as Shizuka led them down, pulling down on the chair Eiichi had sat in so it turned into a platform, then melted into a silver carpet that all of them strutted down in sharp steps. That was her favorite set piece, and Haruka clapped over her clipboard. 

“It worked!” Someone exclaimed. She couldn’t tell who.

“Did you think it wouldn’t?” Minami joked.

Ikumi picked up her lyric, switching places with Shizuka, flipping her hair over one shoulder, running a hand down her body as several of the male dancers converged around her. Then Kanako broke through them, strutting down the catwalk, throwing gold confetti in the air behind her—

 _“Money flying out the hand,”_ Tagami Sayuri said through a wild laugh, quoting the lyric. “Nice.”

—Then Kanako backed up so she was between the five of them again, launching into the sharp choreography of the chorus. Out of any of the groups, HONEY BIRD were by far the best dancers. It was transfixing, and Haruka felt a flush of anxiety as she thought about the shoes they were all wearing—

“More like stilts,” Tomoka said, echoing her thoughts.

“They’re pretty brave,” Rika added.

The second verse was Iwahara Ritsuko, then Yoshida Konomi—then Ikumi passed through them, making her way down the catwalk, doubling over the audience before dropping almost to her knees, belting out a long, low note. She backed up again until she was between the other four.

The second chorus was even more difficult choreography than the first. Haruka bit the skin over her knuckle. Over the harmony of the bridge, Shizuka’s voice rang out, Kanako’s complimenting, before they all joined in harmony for the final chorus, exploding out from there into their final pass. At the end, they froze at sidestage in a gold, glittering fan, three white-clad dancers all around each of them.

And then—before anyone even had time to cheer—STARISH descended from the ceiling on ropes.

 _“WHAT?!”_ Someone shouted.

Haruka smiled. Besides the stagehands and STARISH themselves, she was one of four people who had known about this in advance. They were in the same order they’d been in when they entered, only with different costumes—princes, all of them, white and gold, with accents in each of their colors. Ren’s fedora had a dark orange sash. He looked back at her, met her eyes, smiling around the lyrics of the prelude—the six of them at the sides folded past HONEY BIRD in single turns, who filed gracefully offstage as though they’d been expecting it. Shizuka, who had finished at the top of the V, passed Otoya with a look over her shoulder. He smiled, and she continued.

The first lyric was Masato’s. As they closed the semicircle, he stepped out into the center, then off to one side as Ren and Tokiya sang the next harmony, followed in turn by Syo, then Natsuki, then Cecil and Otoya together, Natsuki singing around Syo’s rap until they all closed over the chorus, the arc now facing the other direction.

Haruka jumped, clapping her hands together as they launched into the chorus, switching her headset off so that all she heard were STARISH. There were no dancers for this piece, so it was just them—they took over the whole stage, flashes of color pulsing through the crowd according to who was singing. Unconsciously, her hand flew over her heart at Tokiya’s high note at the end of the chorus, knowing what was coming.

The entire second verse was Ren’s, and he made his way down the catwalk, his whole body moving with the words. The audience reached out for him—pulses of blue flared into the orange whenever Masato sang the compliments, until Ren backpedaled, switching leads with Natsuki for the pre-chorus. Then they exploded out over the stage again, coalescing in two rows of three at the end of the chorus—

At the beginning of the bridge, two spotlights came on at the gateway above the dias, revealing Tomo, still in her stage clothes, a perplexed look on her face. She met Haruka’s eyes for a second. She shrugged at her friend. STARISH’s harmony climbed as they drew together on either side of her in two lines.

And then Otoya emerged from the dark tunnel of the gateway. His eyes never left hers. Tomo turned to him, then toward the audience as he walked around so he was facing her, his back to the crowd.

He took a knee.

Tomo’s hand flew to her mouth. From her position, Haruka was lucky enough to be able to see the look on Otoya’s face as he sang the words to her. Even from there, even against the contrast of her glittering stage makeup, Haruka saw tears flowing down her face. The bridge extended upward, the harmonies from Ren, Masato, Cecil, and Syo, the towering high notes from Natsuki and Tokiya—

Tomo nodded. Otoya shot up and kissed her, and she wrapped her hand around his head, the other six forming a line in front of them as the bridge broke and they fell into the final chorus, their choreography exploding out over the stage one last time before they all began to converge again. Otoya and Tomo walked down between them hand in hand—Otoya grinning like a maniac, Tomo wearing the shock Haruka knew she still felt, mixed in with the beginnings of happiness and excitement. The remaining six closed in around them for the final lines. When the song ended, they all had their arms slung over one of the two of them—Otoya teasingly batted Natsuki and Cecil off Tomo.

Haruka switched her headset back on. Then she grimaced through her smile—the girls on the channel were screaming.

_“What even just happened—?!”_

A few seconds passed. Sound on the stage went quiet for a moment, the only sounds the screams through the channel and the audience. And then it was the last song. Tomo kissed Otoya one more time before making her way back through the tunnel, disappearing, still glittering, into the black before the lyrics of their first-ever hit rang out—

_“Dokidoki de koware sou 1000% love—”_

_“Wow,”_ she heard Eiji intone into the channel around the girls’ excited chatter. “Was not expecting that.”

Yamato grunted an agreement. “Guy’s got balls doing that in front of this crowd.”

“What if she’d said no?” 

“She wouldn’t have,” Van added. 

“They’re really good together,” Ayumi echoed.

Haruka turned down the volume on her headset until it was mostly background noise. STARISH were performing a more mature version of the song’s original choreography, adapted to add Cecil—the din over the channel remained relatively calm until a series of screams, loud enough to be piercing even with the volume turned down, made Haruka grimace. She turned the volume back up a bit.

_—“You all kept this from me, of course I’m upset!”_

Tomo. She wasn’t really upset—Haruka could hear the smile in her voice. 

“We didn’t know!” Tomoka defended. 

“Not that we would have told you anyway,” her sister added. “The look on Ittoki-kun’s face!”

“Haruka, did you know?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I made the set lists, remember?”

Tomo sighed hugely into the headset. “You’re buying me two lunches.”

“Okay,” she said through a laugh.

And then it was over. The seven of them came together on the stage, their arms over each others’ shoulders, standing there for a long while, waving goodbye as the crowd screamed, rainbows of color flashing out through the crowd. The audience were waving them back and forth, turning the rainbows to waves.

And then the lights on the stage cut. STARISH filed out through the side exits. For several minutes, the audience continued screaming—there would be no encore. It was a symbolic decision on their part, but it had also been Otoya’s request.

Haruka turned off her headset, sliding it off and handing it to a stagehand. When she turned around again, Ren was walking up to her. She met him halfway as he took her in his arms, his clothes and skin slightly damp with sweat—she didn’t care.

He kissed her, both his hands on her face. She stepped over a cable. His lips were salty.

“You were perfect,” she said.

“Thanks to you.” 

She shook her head. “This wasn’t me. This was you.”

He pulled her closer. “You made us, My Lady. We wouldn’t be here—none of this would have happened without you.”

He kissed her again before she could protest. She melted into him, setting her clipboard on a tall amp in the sidestage. Some time later, he pulled back only enough to look her in the face. 

“I have to confess something.”

“You’re going to propose to me,” Haruka said through her smile. 

He tapped her nose with his finger. “Someday. For now, I’m stealing you away.”

“To elope?”

He laughed a bit. “You’re giving me ideas.”

“Then where are we going?”

“Italy.”

She pulled back. There was a beat. Shock registered on her face. 

“—What?”

“My godfather invited us. You met him at the gala, Bellagio Belafonte.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes,” he smiled.

Her brows crossed. “I have work!”

He pulled her back. “No you don’t. Minami deferred your start date.”

“Ren…”

He kissed her. “Come with me. I don’t want to go without you.”

He kissed her again. She felt her resolve slip away. The hand that had been on his chest slid into his hair.

“Okay,” she said against his lips.

“You’ll come,” he said. 

She nodded. He smiled against her lips. “Good, because we leave tomorrow.”

 _“Ren!”_ She swatted at his chest. He laughed, and understanding dawned on her face. “That’s why you wanted me to finish moving in today—”

“My gardener will take care of Momo. She already loves him.”

“She likes him better than you,” Haruka teased.

“Only because I stole you away,” he echoed himself. He kissed her again, then let her go. He held a hand out for her to take, and she did. “But not tonight. Tonight, I want to celebrate our friends’ engagement.”

“By which you mean…”

He looked at her and winked.

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's been a pleasure taking you on this ride. If you were there for the first iteration three years ago, thank you for revisiting. Whether or not you caught the original, I hope you've enjoyed._
> 
> _I have three companion stories, all prequels, to this story already complete. One, Tokiya's prequel, is already posted (Blue Monday). The next two will follow in the coming weeks. Both are four chapters, and both will be posted before Thanksgiving. I'm also in the process of outlining an episodic-style sequel that touches on Ren and Haruka's life after STARISH as they establish themselves in its absence._
> 
> _And rest assured, I'm not planning on taking this down again. It'll be here. My divorce is long concluded. ;)_
> 
> _Peace._


End file.
